Though My Heart Is Torn: The Cadence of Grace, Book 2 (23 page)

Lonnie’s boots squished in the mud as she hurried forward. “Hang on, Jacob,” she said breathlessly over the thrum of rain and pulled the blanket over his tiny head. “We’re almost home.” Her feet slid, but she righted herself. Home called to her.

At her side, Jebediah rushed along. With Addie’s hand in his, he helped the little girl over the slick path. A screech made Lonnie turn. Each of Addie’s small shoes was sliding in a different direction, but Jebediah held her fast.

“Easy,” he said.

Addie pushed a clump of wet hair away from her forehead. She looked up at the old man with fright-filled eyes. Lonnie knew her poor sister, with only a thin knit sweater, had to be terribly cold.

“Here”—Jebediah crouched down, and his knee sank into the mud—“climb up on my back.”

The little girl hesitated and blinked wet lashes up at Lonnie. When Lonnie nodded, Addie climbed onto Jebediah’s back. She wrapped her thin arms around his neck and sank her ashen face into his shoulder.

Rain pelted down in thick sheets, its deafening pulse washing away every other sound. Lonnie wiped her eyes but could scarcely see the path ahead of her. With Jacob nestled beneath the thick blanket, it was a miracle he was so quiet. Every so often, Lonnie lifted a flap to see his tiny
face peek up at her with an expression of uncertainty. His cheeks were as rosy as sun-ripened apples, and his nose ran. “That’s my sweet boy.” Lonnie tugged the wilted blanket in place and continued onward.

When Addie started to cry, Jebediah patted her mud-caked boot. “Look. Do you see that light in the distance?” He pointed.

Addie wiped her nose with her wet sleeve and nodded.

Jebediah grinned, sending his damp mustache skyward. A small waterfall trickled from his broad hat when he tipped his head forward. “That’s home.”

Lonnie stared. She hadn’t recognized their surroundings. She smiled when she spotted the weatherworn rails that lined the Bennett farm. Grayed with age, the ghost of a fence curved this way and that in the fog. With Jacob pressed to her chest, Lonnie stepped over a fallen board. Her skirt snagged, and she yanked it free of a nail. The fabric ripped, but she was too determined to care. Jebediah tugged on the line, and Sugar lumbered into the yard. Lonnie broke into a run.

“Elsie!” she cried.

Her own breath sounded loud in her ears as she flitted across the muddy yard. She called the woman’s name again, not caring if it was proper. Jacob bobbed in her grasp, but Lonnie held him fast.

The back door opened, and Elsie’s soft build filled the frame. “That you, Lonnie?” She left the shelter of the porch and hurried into the rain.

Tears stung Lonnie’s eyes. They met in the middle of the yard where Elsie pulled Jacob from Lonnie’s weary arms. The older woman wrapped a hand around Lonnie’s, and they darted toward the house. Safely under the porch eaves, Elsie pulled her into a wet embrace.

“My child,” she whispered.

Lonnie pinched her eyes closed and breathed in Elsie’s scent of
cinnamon and sugar. Jebediah bounded up the squeaky steps and lowered Addie to the porch. When Elsie pulled away, she smeared Lonnie’s wet hair away from her cheek. Elsie’s sorrow-filled eyes followed the line of the fence.

Lonnie’s chin trembled, and she nodded. “It’s just me.”

Elsie squeezed her hand. She glanced down at the girl beside them.

“Who’s this little one?” She crouched and took Addie’s small hand. “Why, she’s plumb frozen! Come in, come in!” She pulled the child through the doorway. Elsie paused and turned to Jebediah. “You too.” She planted a quick kiss on his cheek, and the wet crowd stumbled into the kitchen.

Lonnie took Jacob and sat him on the floor in front of the stove. She stripped him of his wet clothes. Elsie handed her a towel, and Lonnie wrapped him up. Jebediah excused himself to see to the mule, and Elsie padded up the stairs, singing to the rosy-cheeked boy. Lonnie helped Addie out of her wet shoes and tugged drenched stockings from her icy legs. As she ran a towel over her sister’s feet, Elsie returned.

“This’ll do for now.” She handed Lonnie a tattered sweater. “I found it in the bottom of your drawer.”

Lonnie peeled away Addie’s wet coat and unbuttoned her soaked dress. Addie held onto Lonnie’s shoulder as she stepped out of her clothes, and by the time Lonnie had buttoned her sister up in the old sweater, the redness in Addie’s cheeks had faded, and the little girl smiled.

“Is that better?” Lonnie gathered up the pile of drenched clothing.

Addie nodded.

A soft hand landed on Lonnie’s shoulder. “Now what about you?” Elsie asked.

Lonnie unlaced her filthy shoes and tucked them out of the way. She stood with a weary groan. “I’ll be right back.” As she strode off, the lid to Elsie’s cookie jar clanged out of place. Lonnie knew she would return to find both Jacob and Addie covered in crumbs.

She tiptoed through the parlor, trying her best not to leave wet marks on Elsie’s clean floor. Stealing the oil lamp from the mantel, she tarried long enough to light the cotton wick. The dark parlor came to life. All was as she remembered—the house, the smells, everything. Sliding her hand up the railing, she climbed the stairs two at a time and shuffled down the hall. The door to her bedroom was closed, and with a turn of the squeaky knob, Lonnie pushed it open.

As if awakened from a dream, the lantern light flickered across the small room. Her heart caught in her throat, and she froze. Forgotten images rose up to haunt her. Elsie had made the rumpled bed and pressed drawers snugly into place. Products of her and Gideon’s haste. Lonnie placed a hand to her mouth and felt her heart break anew. Gideon’s favorite shirt lay draped over the brass headboard. He’d talked about packing it but at the last moment decided to leave it behind. When his words of indecision echoed in her mind, she stepped forward.

She touched the cold collar that would never again feel the warmth of his skin.
Gideon
. He was all around. Not daring to disturb the shirt from its spot, she let her hand slip away. He was gone.

With slow, shaky movements, she peeled off her stockings and dropped them in a pile on the floor. She shrugged out of her damp dress and kicked it aside. After opening her drawer, Lonnie dug through what she had left behind. Her black gingham dress caught her eye. It desperately needed to be ironed, but with long sleeves, it would keep her
warm. Lonnie slid the wrinkled gown over her head, then pressed the silver buttons into place and straightened the skewed collar.

She closed the drawer softly and turned to face the empty bedroom. Stepping in a slow circle, she did not know what to do next. Just the sight of the bedroom made her feel Gideon’s presence, and Lonnie could not bear to lose that. After lifting a corner of the quilt, she slid between the cold sheets and huddled against her pillow. She crossed her bare ankles and closed her eyes.

Coveted images filled her. She smoothed her hand across the empty side of the bed. Gideon’s rumpled hair in the morning. The sight of him standing in front of the moonlit window when sleep was not his friend. His touch. His voice. Reaching out, she gently fingered the fabric of his pillow, his scent more than a memory.

The outdoors called to her. Cassie left the warm bed and dressed in the dark. She snatched a rag from the dresser, then tied it over her hair and slid the knot out of sight. She tiptoed across the bedroom and hurried out. When she opened the front door, a cold gust greeted her.

She’d forgotten her army coat in the bedroom. She knew just where she left it—draped across the back of the rocking chair. Dare she slip back into the bedroom? Reaching around the door, her hand fumbled along the wall until she felt Gideon’s coat. Cassie yanked it free and tossed it over her shoulders. She smiled when his earthy scent rose from the dark oilcloth. It was not the same as the real thing, but it was as close to the man as she’d gotten in a long time.

The sun was yet to rise, but the night sky had warmed to a soft glow. Cassie crossed the yard and hurried through a thin layer of fog to the chicken coop. Gideon had bought three hens the day before, and she was eager to search for eggs. After opening the stout door, she tiptoed into the cozy coop. “Mornin’,” she whispered to the caramel-colored hens, still huddled on their perch.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Her hands shuffled through the straw until her fingers grazed something hard. Cassie smiled to herself. She tucked the treasure in her apron pocket
and offered her quick thanks to the three hens, wishing she knew which feathered creature had provided it.

She slipped out as quietly as she had come and, when the latch clicked into place, hurried back to the house. A misty fog shrouded the farm, hiding the cabin from sight.

The dawn of a new day. Of a new life.

She let the cold air fill her chest. She wondered what the weeks and months ahead would hold, trying to shrug off the knowledge that those that had passed had been anything but easy. Today was a new day, and Gideon O’Riley was her husband. She still wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it would be enough to temper the whispers. Enough to open up a lifetime of possibilities. Gideon would change. She knew him. Knew his heart. Deep down, there was a yearning for something greater. Perhaps that’s what he’d seen in Lonnie. She fought a surge of jealousy.

That would get her nowhere. Could it not be something he saw in her as well?

Cassie pushed her unruly hair from her face, the resolve sinking in that she would no longer pursue him. Let the man come to her.
Oh, that it may be one day
.

Gideon crouched and pressed his head to the floor. He scanned the dark oak planks beneath the bed. He smoothed his hand out but felt nothing other than dusty wood. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he sat back on his heels. He crammed his fingers beneath the mattress.

His blood thinned. He yanked his pillow away and tossed the quilt aside. After ripping the sheet free, he saw only the faded ticking stripe of the mattress cover. Gideon thrust the blankets back over the bed. He
turned, and his gaze flicked over the room. There was only one possible answer.

Gideon stomped across the bedroom and scanned the front room. Empty. He stepped to the window and yanked the curtains aside. The sunrise nearly blinded him. Reaching behind the door, he grasped for his coat, but his hand landed on an empty peg. He slammed the door, and the walls shook. Biting back a curse, he jerked it open and trudged into the cold.

The air stung his skin as he started toward the woodpile. A low fog skittered across the farm on a gust of wind, moistening his shirt. The icy fabric clung to his back. Gideon grabbed an armload, bounded up the steps, and hurried inside. With a flick of his boot, he snagged the door, and it slammed behind him.

As if it had a life of its own, the door creaked open. Gideon spun around. Cassie stilled beneath his pointed stare.

When she held up an egg, he noticed her smile was hesitant. “I found breakfast.”

“Come in and shut the door.” He dropped the wood next to the stove, and oak clanged against the floor. With his boot, he jammed the wood into a muddled pile.

Cassie stepped forward, brows knit together. She pressed the door closed with a soft
click
. She pushed up the oversized sleeves, a reminder that the coat was not hers.

Still shivering, he glared at her. “Why did you take my jacket?”

Cassie blushed and hurried to take it off. She folded it over her arm and carried it to its place behind the door. “I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep.” She slid the coat on its peg. “I didn’t think you would mind.”

Irritated, he shook his head. “Did you go through my things?”

Her features sharpened. “No. Why?”

“Because I lost something.” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. “Did you take it?”

Mouth pursed, Cassie stepped forward and placed the egg on the table. “Gideon, I did not take anything of yours.” She pulled open the cupboard and, rising on her tiptoes, fumbled around on the top shelf. She set the frying pan on the stove and spoke without turning around. “If you’ll tell me what it was you lost, I might be able to help.”

He ran his hand along his forehead, suddenly warm. “I … I lost a ribbon,” he began. “It was yellow.”