My Hope Is Found: The Cadence of Grace, Book 3 (18 page)

He rubbed his palm against his forehead, then lifted a tiny wool sweater. He held it to the weak morning sunshine that filtered through the grimy window. A swirl of dust motes and light. With tiny sleeves and a snug collar, the green sweater was just the size to fit Jacob. The little boy had outgrown nearly all his infant clothes. Gideon set the sweater aside. Lonnie would be pleased.

He lifted another item and, shaking it loose from its folds, held up a tiny dress. He fingered the lace collar that had yellowed with age. Heartache struck him again as he thought of what Jebediah must have felt packing these things away all those years ago.

This would have fit Sarah by now. It would crush Lonnie to see this dress. He folded the garment with more care than he’d ever folded anything in his life and set it on his knee. He cleared his throat. Shuffling through the crate, he pulled out the items that would work for Jacob, while leaving the dresses and bows tucked safely out of sight. Replacing the lid, he understood why Elsie had given the task to no one else.

His knees were stiff when he rose. He strode toward the door, then stopped short. Dangling from a peg on the wall was a small chair he’d begun for Jacob. All those months ago. Gideon fingered one of the thin, spindly legs. He’d spent hours shaping it, thinking of his son the entire time. And now …

Gideon glanced toward the house. How many morning cuddles had he missed? How many good-night stories? No wonder his son didn’t know him. Would that God but grant him the chance to change that. He felt sick at the thought of Toby tucking Jacob in at night. Lying down beside Lonnie.

Quickly shaking off the thought, he clutched the clothes to his chest and stepped out. With his boot, he pushed the door closed. He heard fabric rip and felt a burn against his side. Lifting his arm, he saw that a nail had torn through his shirt, scraping all the way to his skin. Perfect. Gideon pressed the latch into place and started for the house beneath a rising sun.

He found Elsie elbow deep in dishwater. He set the clothes on the table, and her eyes followed the movement.

“Thank you, Elsie.” He nodded toward the small stack.

“Lonnie’ll be down in a little while.” Elsie scrubbed at a pan. “She’s upstairs reading to Jacob.”

Gideon shut the kitchen door softly, yearning to join them. But Jacob would probably hurl the book at his head, and Lonnie would probably remind him what a great reader Toby was.

Elsie arched an eyebrow. “Everything all right?”

He realized he was scowling. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“She won’t be long. May I get you some coffee or something to eat?”

“No, thank you. Oh. But”—he stuck his thumb through the tear on the side of his ribs—“would you mind fetching me another shirt? This is the only other shirt I have right now. My good one’s hanging on the line. There should be a few in the wardrobe.”

Elsie clamped her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re gone.”

“Gone?” A half smile lit his face, uninvited. “She didn’t waste much time getting rid of me.”

“She was a mess, Gid. I think of all people, you’d understand.”

He stared at the wooden floor. “I kept the only thing I had of her.”

“She didn’t have a choice, and you know it.” Elsie glanced upstairs. “It
doesn’t mean she wanted to.” Her copper eyes searched his. “So don’t you go thinking otherwise.”

He doubted that. She seemed to have moved on quite nicely. She’d cleared him out of her life and nearly secured a new husband. What else needed to be done? Dig his grave?

“Give her time.” Elsie tugged on his sleeve, her voice soft. “And in the meantime, give me that shirt. I’ll fetch one of Jebediah’s and have this mended for you as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Elsie.” He watched her disappear.

In the parlor, he worked the buttons of his shirt loose and draped it over the banister. Settling down on the steps to wait for Elsie, he leaned forward and clasped his hands. The soft sounds of Lonnie lulling their son to sleep floated down. A lullaby. Running his hands together, Gideon closed his eyes.

Lonnie dropped the dishes in the empty washtub and pulled her hands back so Elsie could fill it. “Thank you.” Using a wooden spoon, Lonnie scrubbed at the roast pan, sticky from the remainder of caramelized onions. When her elbow burned, she smeared the back of her hand over her forehead. Voices filtered in from the parlor, but Lonnie was too busy with her thoughts to listen.

She scrubbed at a spoon until Elsie finally plucked the sparkling piece from her fingers, and it was then she realized she’d polished the same utensil for the last several minutes. Elsie’s eyebrows lifted, creasing her forehead. Lonnie turned back to her work and, even as her cheeks blushed, knew she could sooner catch a sky full of fireflies than she could contain her thoughts.

“Gideon.” Elsie said the single word softly, watching her.

Lonnie drew in a shaky breath. “I spent all these months trying to move on.”

“And how did it go?”

Lonnie gave her a look and knew it was enough when Elsie smiled. Lonnie dipped her rag into the warm water. After a few moments, she finally spoke. “He’s changed, Elsie.” She cleaned a cup inside and out.

“In ways.” Elsie said thoughtfully, stacking cups in a high cupboard.

The tuning of a mandolin drifted into the kitchen. Lonnie and Elsie lifted their heads in unison. Gideon strummed a quick lick, only a few chords long, then tuned again, the bitter notes becoming sweeter. Several moments of silence, and Lonnie heard Jebediah put in a request.

The song began.

“You go on, Elsie. We can finish this up later.”

Nodding softly, Elsie tossed her dishtowel aside.

“I’ll be in in just a moment.”

After watching her leave, Lonnie stood for several minutes, cup in hand, water dripping down her elbow. Then she placed the dish in the tub and grabbed a towel. She shook out the damp folds of her apron and stepped into the parlor. Gideon sat on the edge of the fireplace, knees jutted up. His fingers slowed when she walked in.

“Don’t mind me.” She slid into the desk chair. Addie sat on the floor with Jacob in her lap, where the boy chewed on a piece of bread from supper. Crumbs caught on his rounded tummy.

Gideon plucked skillfully in soft rhythm, betraying the likelihood of only one instrument bringing the music to life. Jebediah and Elsie exchanged glances. Lonnie understood the look they shared—this was a treat.
And you?
Lonnie pressed her hand to her collarbone. With his head bowed, Gideon seemed in a world of his own. She couldn’t help but watch him. His fingers moved effortlessly; the music he created formed in perfect harmonies. It was her song. But it had grown, matured. She had never heard anything like it.

His hair seemed darker than she remembered, ruddier, less golden. The way it looked in the winter, when the summer sun could not lighten it as if God had laced it with golden straw. The freckles on his nose had faded as well. Lonnie pressed her hands in her lap. She had missed it all.
She’d said good-bye to him in the fall, and here he was, months later, before her again.

What have you been doing, Gideon?
Every day, every hour that he was gone, he was with another. She’d lost a part of his life.
And Cassie?
Cassie had gained memories—moments—with the man Lonnie, no matter how desperately she wished it were so, could not steal back. She felt the surge of jealousy afresh and pushed it away, knowing full well it would not heal her pain. As Elsie had told her long ago, jealousy only hurts the one who feels it.

Jacob slid from Addie’s embrace, and when his small hand found the hem of Lonnie’s skirt, she hoisted him onto her lap. She buried her nose in his soft curls and savored his sweet scent, slightly soapy from a recent bath. His feet kicked, then stilled. As his head pressed against her shoulder, she felt him sigh. His hand fell limp on her leg, his half-eaten bread forgotten.

Rarely did he sit so still. He stared at his father, his chubby fingers in his mouth. Lonnie kissed the top of Jacob’s head. When Gideon looked up, his eyes first found hers, then drifted to their son. He smiled. A wholeness lived in his expression. A yearning in his eyes. He longed for his son. In ways she would never understand. For she had not been forced away.

As if hearing her thoughts, he lowered his face, seeming to turn his attention back to the music. But when his eyebrows lifted and his eyes locked with hers once more, she knew otherwise.

Leaning against the door frame of the darkened room, Gideon tucked his hands in his pockets and nearly held his breath. Lonnie smoothed her hand over Jacob’s forehead and, kneeling in front of the large cradle Gideon made, placed the sleeping child in his bed. Jacob stirred but did not wake. Lonnie lifted his quilt over him and tucked it securely on both sides.

The glass panes rattled softly. She turned her face to the window. Gideon stood frozen in place, knowing he should make his presence known but finding it impossible to do so. He lifted a corner of his plaid shirt and tugged his undershirt free of his pants, letting the fabric fall loose around his hips. The end of another day.

Lonnie pulled the curtains closed.

“Will he be warm enough?” Gideon kept his voice low so as not to startle her.

Without turning, she nodded softly. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and lower his chin to her shoulder as he once had. But he didn’t move. When Lonnie faced him, she seemed to sense as much and folded her hands in front of her skirt.

“I should leave,” he said.

She squinted, as if frustrated it had to be this way. “Would you like to kiss him good night?”

Gideon sucked in a breath. “I don’t know if that’s a—”

“Please.” She stepped toward the door, brushing past him without looking up. “Take your time.”

He watched her stroll through the hall and quietly pad down the stairs.

Gideon straightened and his eyes roved the familiar room. Memories flooded him, and knowing it would be unwise to let them linger, he knelt beside Jacob’s cradle and traced his thumb over his son’s velvet cheek. Like black fringe, the little boy’s lashes rested on plump cheeks, white nightshirt not fully buttoned. With fumbling, oversized fingers, Gideon pushed the last two buttons into place.

“It’s me,” he whispered, sliding his knees forward until they knocked against the bottom of the low cradle. Gideon leaned forward. He kissed Jacob’s forehead, finally his nose. The boy shifted and rolled to his side, a
relaxed sigh escaping him. Draping an arm on each side of the small child, Gideon pressed his ear to Jacob’s chest and closed his eyes.

Careful not to place any weight on his son, Gideon listened to the rhythm of the boy’s heartbeat, which brought a sting of tears to his eyes. He thought this day would never come. Lifting his head, he stared down at his son. “I love you,” he whispered, unable to keep the longing from his voice.

After rising, Gideon stepped softly from the room. At the base of the stairs, he found Jebediah and Elsie reading by the firelight. Addie was curled up on the sofa beside Elsie, her head in the older woman’s lap. Gideon nodded when they looked up, but he was too interested in the quiet movement coming from the kitchen to linger anywhere else.

He found Lonnie sitting at the table, one leg pulled beneath her. His shirt in her hands.

Stuffing his fists in his pockets, he leaned against the jamb. “Elsie was going to do that.”

Lantern light fell golden across her skin when she looked up. “Elsie spent the afternoon at a quiltin’ bee. They made a wedding quilt for the McGuire couple. So I just offered.”

A tug on the nearest chair, and he sat opposite her. “I appreciate it.”

“Oh … and Elsie said when the family heard you were back in town, they asked if you’d play.”

“I can do that.”

“It’s next Friday.”

He nodded. “I’ll remember to take a bath then.”

He could tell she was trying not to smile. In no hurry to be anywhere but beside her, he clasped his hands in front of him and rested his forearms on the table.

“What did you do?” she asked, holding up the tear.

“Caught it on a nail.” He let out a low chuckle. “I suppose some things never change.”

She shook her head, but her lips suggested she agreed. “Didn’t you bring any other clothes?”

Gideon flicked his collar. “You’d think so. But I didn’t have much.”

Lonnie moved her hand beneath the fabric, then her needle spliced through. “Did you just leave everything you owned in Rocky Knob?”

“I didn’t have much,” he repeated.

“No?”

“Just what we brought to visit your family. Everything in that little sack.” He held his hands in front of him, close enough to mirror the size of his pack. He tipped his chin. “I didn’t exactly want to stay.”

Her mouth fell open, then clamped shut. “Of course you didn’t. I’m sorry.” She lowered her hand to the table, the needle idle between her fingers.

“I didn’t expect you to, uh—” He tugged at Jebediah’s shirt, and his eyes lifted upstairs.

“I’m so sorry.”

He could tell she meant it. “You couldn’t have kept anything?” He knew the answer would pain him, but he needed to know.