Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 (26 page)

He chuckled. Pressing the rag to the top of his head, he closed his eyes and water dripped down his face and chest. He sat there until his bath turned cold and the smell of roasted pork wafted from downstairs.

Gideon dried off and shuffled through the dresser drawer until he found a clean shirt. He put it on and checked his appearance in the mirror. He ran his hand through hair that hadn’t been cut in months. He dumped out his bath water and put the tub away, then went in search of his wife.

“Lonnie’s gonna cut my hair. Have you seen her?”

Elsie glanced up from the pot she was stirring. Her eyebrows rose. “She went to fetch a stool.”

Gideon ducked outside in time to see Lonnie struggling across the yard. Snow fell in soft flakes around her. He jogged out, took the stool, and carried it back to the house. “You shouldn’t lift things like this.”

Her cheeks colored, and a smile was his only answer. She grabbed the broom as they passed through the kitchen. Gideon set the stool in the center of their bedroom, and Lonnie leaned the broom against the wall, then pulled a small pair of scissors from her apron pocket. “I have been waiting for this for a long time.”

“Is it that bad?” He tossed his hand through his hair, swiping what few snowflakes remained.

“Shirt.” She pointed to the bed.

He made quick work of the buttons and tossed it onto the bed before sitting.

She ran the comb through his wet locks, and Gideon tried to sit still. “Don’t cut me,” he murmured.

Her words were near his ear. “I’ll try not to.”

Gideon held his neck steady as she tugged at his hair.
Snip, snip
. Autumn-colored curls fell to the floor.

He glanced at the mess around his feet. “You’re sure you ain’t cuttin’ too much now?”

“Will you just hush and let me work?” She forced his head up. “I’m good at this, trust me.”

His pa had once told him to never trust a woman who said “Trust me.” Gideon sighed and looked ahead.

Her hand stroked through his hair in rhythm with the comb. The soft pull made Gideon’s eyes flutter closed, but every bit of his consciousness
was on the fingers touching his hair. As she made her way from side to side, her belly brushed against his back. He wondered what it would be like to run his hand over the fabric of her dress.

“Hold still,” she whispered and then placed fingertips on each side of his head, steadying it.

He swallowed. “Sorry.”

She breathed softly as she worked in silence. His head felt light when she smoothed the strands behind each ear.

“How’s it going back there?” His voice came out dry and raspy. He cleared his throat but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. “Does it look good?”

“Uh-huh,” she murmured. “All done.” She grazed the strands at the base of his head.

Lonnie brushed the fallen crescents off his shoulders. “Just a moment. Close your eyes.” She touched his temples.

He did as told and felt her fingers gently smooth over his nose and brush at his cheeks. His heart pounded. He licked his lips and reminded himself to breathe. But when Lonnie leaned in and blew on his forehead, he forgot what he was supposed to remember.

“Open your eyes,” she said, and he looked up at her. She clutched a hand mirror to her chest and stepped behind him before reaching it around.

“What do you think?”

Gideon stared at his reflection, scarcely recognizing himself. “You did a fine job.” He turned his head from side to side.

“You look very handsome.”

He caught her watching him in the mirror. “Thanks,” he said sheepishly.

F
inished sweeping, Gideon leaned the broom against the wall. He spotted a slow shadow moving along the edge of the property. He narrowed his gaze. A black coat flickered between the trees. Chills pricked along Gideon’s shoulders, but in a blink, he realized it was Gus, Jebediah’s neighbor. Gideon pressed his hand to his chest and let out a slow breath. Still, the debt tainting his name gnawed at him, and as he watched Gus stride out of sight, he knew Bert and his cohorts were coming for him.

He vowed to get the watch back to Bert. And then some. Bert’s words echoed in his mind. The man expected more than just a watch. Gideon shook his head. He scarcely had two pennies to rub together.

Gideon stepped away from the window. He had no way of making money. He worked for food and board. Nothing more. And rightly so. Jebediah and Elsie gave freely of all they had. As he put the broom away, he knew he had to think of something.

The smells of roasted pork and hot gravy pulled Gideon into the kitchen. He sat beside Lonnie as Jebediah blessed the food, then his hands followed hers. She took a biscuit, and he took one too. With each platter that passed his way, he made certain she’d taken her share before
helping himself to any. Lonnie’s laughter rang in unison with Elsie’s when Jebediah told a joke. Gideon glanced at his wife and couldn’t help smiling along. He found it impossible to pull his gaze from her cheery face.

When Elsie began to pick the rest of the meat from the bone, Gideon leaned back in his chair and smoothed his hands down his stomach. “You feed us too well.” He stretched, stepped to the woodbox, and found a thin shard. Crouching in front of the stove, he held the sliver to the flames until it caught. He lit his pipe, then handed the small flame over to Jebediah, who followed him into the parlor and lit his own.

Lonnie sat at the writing desk and scribbled away on another letter. Gideon cupped his pipe between his thumb and forefinger and watched his wife. She reached behind her and rubbed her lower back. The tin ring on her finger clicked against the wooden chair.

She turned and looked at him, catching his stare. “Promise me you will get this to the post office soon?”

He cleared his throat. “I will do it soon as I can.” Mount Airy was more than fifteen miles away, and there was rarely a day that he had that kind of time. But something in him made him want to get it there.

Her mouth moved in a silent thank-you. She tucked the letter aside and moved to the rocking chair. Gideon set his pipe on the mantel and reached for his mandolin. He began to tune the eight strings, and before he finished, Lonnie offered up a request.

“I don’t know that one.” Gideon shifted the instrument into place.

“It’s an old, old hymn.”

He clutched the mandolin to his chest. “Why don’t you start singin’ it and I’ll catch on?”

She fiddled with the edge of her apron. Finally, she nodded softly.
“All right.” She crossed her ankles and set the rocker in motion. She drew in a measured breath, then let it out slowly. Her voice began small, the first words barely more than a whisper.

Gideon moved his hand to the fret board as he listened. He felt his mouth tip in a half smile. She was singing. For him.

Her voice grew louder, more sure. The melody unfolded in Gideon’s mind, and his hands moved out of instinct as he began to play softly. Quietly, Elsie joined in. Jebediah leaned back against the sofa, arms folded over his chest, and closed his eyes. His head nodded in rhythm. Elsie chose the next song, and together they sang into the night. Elsie’s soprano was pleasant. Lonnie’s was smooth, but just like the spruce beneath his hands, it had the slightest grain. Gideon couldn’t take his eyes from Lonnie’s face. She seemed to stare at the fire, her expression serene.

The last song ended, the vibrations quieting. It wasn’t until the grandfather clock chimed nine that Lonnie blinked as if coming back from a faraway place. When her eyes met Gideon’s, she smiled sheepishly.

Elsie reached over and patted Lonnie’s knee. “That was lovely, dear. You should sing more often.”

Gideon set his instrument aside and, leaning forward, rubbed his palms together. “I second that.”

Lonnie blushed and he winked.

Jebediah glanced over his shoulder at the clock. “Is it that late? I should have been in bed a good hour ago. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“And I have a special breakfast planned for someone’s birthday.” Elsie said.

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.