Gideon and Own shut the two doors to the apple shed. Using his fist, Tal tamped the rusty latch into place. They walked toward the house.
“Say, Tal. I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Gideon stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What are the chances I could take some trees with me? Could I cash in part of my earnings for some of those bare roots you’ve been storing?” He wanted to bring Lonnie something of lasting worth. Something he could one day leave his son. For they deserved all he could give them and more. “Would that be all right?”
“Sure thing. We’ll get you set up real nice.” He motioned for Gideon to take the lead up the steps. “Life’s gonna make an apple farmer of you yet.”
Inside the warm house the air was rich with the smell of seasonings and broth. Mrs. Jemson moved a loaf of brown bread from the stove. Little Jimmy and Carl were busy setting the table. Having grown taller, the boys were lankier than when Gideon first met them. Their freckles darker.
Gideon sat at Mrs. Jemson’s urging. The family circled around, benches and chairs scraping out of place as they sat. Wedged between thetwo youngest boys, Gideon felt them watching him with wide, curious eyes as they often did.
At a soft nod from his father, Owen blessed the food. His voice sure. As if he’d done it a hundred times. Gideon tugged his knit cap off and stuffed it between his knees, all the while wondering what it would have been like to have been raised that way. What it would be like to have a faith that stemmed from some deep spring, that could simply pour forth. At the murmured amens, Gideon lifted his napkin and glanced around at the Jemsons.
How he wished it were Jacob’s hand he could hold in prayer. Lonnie’s cheery face across the table from him. Swallowing hard, Gideon stared at his food. He wanted Lonnie. He wanted to ask her the countless questions that roiled inside his mind. He wanted to hear her voice. Her faith. He wanted everything about her.
“Dig in.” Mrs. Jemson popped the lid on the jam jar as her husband cut thick slices of dark, steaming bread.
As Gideon stirred his soup—a mixture of white beans and beef—the aroma of herbs and spices stirred memories of Elsie’s kitchen. Slicing a tender chunk of carrot in half with his spoon, Gideon ducked it under the broth, his appetite forgotten. It took all his strength not to rise from the chair. Rise up and go get his family. He couldn’t.
For they weren’t his for the taking. At least not yet. He blew his breath out quick and ran a hand over his face.
Soon
, he told himself.
Soon
. A lift of his shoulder and he sighed.
Lord, let it be so
. Gideon fingered his glass, turning it in his hands. He wondered what he would say to her. What he would do the first time he saw her, saw Jacob.
“Gideon. Everything all right with the food?”
Lifting his head with a start, Gideon realized he’d been lost in thought. “Yes ma’am.” He sipped from his spoon. “It’s very fine. Thank you.” Hetook the slice of bread little Carl offered. Suddenly realizing how hungry he was, he ate his supper and accepted a second ladleful of soup. When the bowls had been emptied and stacked, Tal rose and reached for his pipe. Owen and the boys carried the dishes to the washbasin as Mrs. Jemson wrapped the remainder of the bread.
Kneeling in front of the stove, Tal stoked the fire, then turned to carry the heavy stockpot from the table for his wife.
Not wanting to stand idle, Gideon snatched up the broom and swept the floor, then brought in an armful of firewood, stacking it carefully.
Tal settled down in the parlor, newspaper in hand, a curl of smoke rising from his pipe. Owen sat by the dark window. At his brothers’ urging, he pulled out a whistle he’d been whittling for them. Soft shavings fell beneath his sharp knife. Hands in his pocket, Gideon studied the books on the tall, slender case beside the window.
Mrs. Jemson slid the kettle onto the stove and waved
“Say, Tal. I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Gideon stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What are the chances I could take some trees with me? Could I cash in part of my earnings for some of those bare roots you’ve been storing?” He wanted to bring Lonnie something of lasting worth. Something he could one day leave his son. For they deserved all he could give them and more. “Would that be all right?”
“Sure thing. We’ll get you set up real nice.” He motioned for Gideon to take the lead up the steps. “Life’s gonna make an apple farmer of you yet.”
Inside the warm house the air was rich with the smell of seasonings and broth. Mrs. Jemson moved a loaf of brown bread from the stove. Little Jimmy and Carl were busy setting the table. Having grown taller, the boys were lankier than when Gideon first met them. Their freckles darker.
Gideon sat at Mrs. Jemson’s urging. The family circled around, benches and chairs scraping out of place as they sat. Wedged between thetwo youngest boys, Gideon felt them watching him with wide, curious eyes as they often did.
At a soft nod from his father, Owen blessed the food. His voice sure. As if he’d done it a hundred times. Gideon tugged his knit cap off and stuffed it between his knees, all the while wondering what it would have been like to have been raised that way. What it would be like to have a faith that stemmed from some deep spring, that could simply pour forth. At the murmured amens, Gideon lifted his napkin and glanced around at the Jemsons.
How he wished it were Jacob’s hand he could hold in prayer. Lonnie’s cheery face across the table from him. Swallowing hard, Gideon stared at his food. He wanted Lonnie. He wanted to ask her the countless questions that roiled inside his mind. He wanted to hear her voice. Her faith. He wanted everything about her.
“Dig in.” Mrs. Jemson popped the lid on the jam jar as her husband cut thick slices of dark, steaming bread.
As Gideon stirred his soup—a mixture of white beans and beef—the aroma of herbs and spices stirred memories of Elsie’s kitchen. Slicing a tender chunk of carrot in half with his spoon, Gideon ducked it under the broth, his appetite forgotten. It took all his strength not to rise from the chair. Rise up and go get his family. He couldn’t.
For they weren’t his for the taking. At least not yet. He blew his breath out quick and ran a hand over his face.
Soon
, he told himself.
Soon
. A lift of his shoulder and he sighed.
Lord, let it be so
. Gideon fingered his glass, turning it in his hands. He wondered what he would say to her. What he would do the first time he saw her, saw Jacob.
“Gideon. Everything all right with the food?”
Lifting his head with a start, Gideon realized he’d been lost in thought. “Yes ma’am.” He sipped from his spoon. “It’s very fine. Thank you.” Hetook the slice of bread little Carl offered. Suddenly realizing how hungry he was, he ate his supper and accepted a second ladleful of soup. When the bowls had been emptied and stacked, Tal rose and reached for his pipe. Owen and the boys carried the dishes to the washbasin as Mrs. Jemson wrapped the remainder of the bread.
Kneeling in front of the stove, Tal stoked the fire, then turned to carry the heavy stockpot from the table for his wife.
Not wanting to stand idle, Gideon snatched up the broom and swept the floor, then brought in an armful of firewood, stacking it carefully.
Tal settled down in the parlor, newspaper in hand, a curl of smoke rising from his pipe. Owen sat by the dark window. At his brothers’ urging, he pulled out a whistle he’d been whittling for them. Soft shavings fell beneath his sharp knife. Hands in his pocket, Gideon studied the books on the tall, slender case beside the window.
Mrs. Jemson slid the kettle onto the stove and waved
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