Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 by Joanne Bischof Page B

that in mind.
    Her shoulders seemed heavier, but Gideon refused to let it dampen his spirits. Turning, he glanced past Lonnie to the porch and licked the sweet taste of applesauce from his lips.
    They walked for several hours, and he couldn’t help but notice that Lonnie didn’t say a word. When they stopped to make camp that night, Gideon gathered scraps of wood, a few dry twigs, and a handful of crisp oak leaves. It wasn’t cold, but he couldn’t shake the thought of friedeggs. As he knelt before his makeshift firepit, Lonnie spread out the bedroll. She curled onto her side and closed her eyes.
    Gideon pulled the small pan from his pack and set it near the flames. He sat back on his haunches. “We gonna have these eggs tonight?”
    Lonnie shrugged. “I’ve lost my appetite.” She didn’t look at him. “That food didn’t sit right on my stomach.”
    After the look she’d given him earlier, he was certain there was more to it. A muscle clenched in his jaw. Using his fingertips, he twirled two eggs across his open palm, willing himself not to crush the delicate shells under the weight of his irritation. “Suit yourself,” he mumbled into the fire.
    “We could have them for breakfast.”
    Gideon drew in a slow steady breath. “Sure, that’d be fine.” He carefully wrapped the eggs and tucked the precious bundle in the pack. They might break, and it would have all been a waste. He shook his head.
    Lonnie stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles. She placed a tender hand on her stomach and closed her eyes. Gideon studied her pale face. He had noticed that her steps had slowed, and her breathing sounded strained as they walked.
    His stomach grumbled, and he worked his way through what remained of the beans. He cleaned the last cold bite out before realizing he should have rationed them. But the comfort of a full stomach had blurred his judgment. His spoon clanged when he dropped it into the empty tin. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Gideon glanced at Lonnie. With her eyes closed, she seemed more at peace than she had in days. Annoyed with himself, and still hungry, he worked his jaw and stared into the flames.

    Lonnie blinked against the early morning light. She sat up slowly and glanced down at Gideon, whose face rested atop his outstretched arm. Careful not to disturb him, she rose and checked the fire. She stirred the ashes with a brittle stick and, blowing on the last remaining embers, managed to revive it.
    With her husband still snoring, she snatched up the water jug to fill in the creek. She didn’t know how Gideon managed to find water nearly every day, but she counted it a blessing. She pulled his shirt from the pack and shook out his dirty socks. Stacking her own things on top, she carried the bundle to the water’s edge, where she dunked Gideon’s shirt below the chilly surface before slapping it against a rock. Dunking and scrubbing alternately, she took care to turn the fabric to clean it all over. Her hands were red and numb by the time she finished, and spotting a sunny cluster of bushes downstream, she laid the wet shirt out to dry.
    She smiled to herself and, with a song on her heart, made quick work of the rest of his clothes. When she finished with Gideon’s things, she turned to her own, content at the sight of the fresh, clean clothes in the sun. By the time she was finished, she smelled eggs cooking. Her empty stomach spurred her to finish the task. She rinsed her last stocking and neatly tossed it onto the bush before clutching her skirt and scrambling up the bank to get back to camp.
    Gideon sat on a rock, his back to her, staring blankly into the flames.
    “I see you made breakfast,” she said, wiping her cold, damp hands on her skirt.
    He nodded so softly she hardly noticed the motion. His flannelshirt hung open, allowing the thin undershirt to peek out. He stared at the fire, his eyes as blank as his expression.
    “There’s a fork in the bottom of the pack.” She bent