15. Viola
Viola
Ifought to press my palm to the throbbing pain in my head, but my hand wouldn’t move. It was pinned beside me.
Pressure. A caress. Who?
I struggling to focus on the face above me. Dark hair framed by the pale morning sky. A man.
The scent of something sweet and earthy was overwhelmed by the stronger, coppery smell of blood. My blood? I angled my head, glimpsed purple flowers nodding all around us. The slight movement ignited agony, and I spiraled back into darkness.
The next time I surfaced, a different face looked down at me, and more people rushed about. Then the blackness returned.
I floated in darkness. Throbbing pain arrived in my head.
Somewhere outside my pain, a male voice said, “Let me give it a try. This calmed her earlier.”
Footsteps approached, and that well-tuned voice crooned softly in my ear. “Shh. You’re safe now. Rest easy. All will be well. Be still.”
Like bread warm from the oven, a comforting heat settled around my hand. The slow caress tracing over my skin was gentle. Reassuring.
I shivered, icy to my core. Blurry shapes swam, then steadied. The dark-haired man leaned over me—unruly hair now framed by a ceiling instead of the sky.
Concerned caramel-brown eyes hovered inches above. His breath brushed my temple.
The scent of woodsmoke and vegetable soup drifted close and set my stomach rumbling. I curved instinctively toward the man beside me.
Who was he?
A young, dark-haired woman stood nearby. A brightly colored quilt covered me as I lay on a long couch in a snug room. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn drapes.
The young man shifted forward and adjusted the pillow under my head. He sat on a low stool facing me.
An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a dark beard rose from his chair and crouched beside me. “I’m Doctor Nelson. You’ve taken a blow to your head and have been unconscious. Don’t try to sit up.”
The doctor quietly instructed me to move various body parts until he appeared satisfied. “Can you speak?”
I gave the slightest nod and opened my parched mouth to speak, but my thick, dry tongue made speech impossible. I mouthed, “Water.”
The woman held a cup to my lips, and the man gently lifted the pillow—and my head.
Moving my head was agony, but the water was the sweetest I’d ever known. I drank deeply, not caring that some dribbled down my chin.
“What happened?” I hardly recognized the voice as my own.
The young dark-haired man answered, and I focused on his lips while he spoke. “I think you fell off the train. You hit your head. I found you by the tracks and carried you home.”
“You met Doc Nelson.” He motioned to the others in the room. “This is my father, Ivar Jensen, and my sister, Jo.”
Our eyes met. “I’m Jacob.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I managed, then attempted a smile, but my dry lips threatened to crack, so it was more of a grimace.
“I’m…” My words dissolved. Nothing. I looked from one face to another. Maybe they had the answer?
But no. They all waited.
Try again. “I am…” Still nothing.
“I can’t remember,” I said. How could I not remember? I wanted to hide from his concern, but any movement hurt. Blast it all. I squeezed my eyes shut. Hold it together. Please.
I gripped Jacob’s hand—Jacob with the kind eyes. Breathe. In and out. Along with the scent of soup, there was the faint, earthy smell from the field. I remembered the field. My ragged breathing slowed.
The doctor said, “Don’t be alarmed. Amnesia can occur after a bad bump to the head.”
Amnesia.
“Once the swelling goes down, your memories should return. I know you’re upset, but I must ask. Do you remember anything that might help us find your family and get you home?”
I came up against walls at every turn. My memories were locked away inside a house without doors or windows, and I was stuck outside—trapped outside my own life.
My voice shook, thin and high. “Nothing. I remember nothing.”
“Shh. You’ve had a big shock and should rest,” the doctor said. “The Jensens are good folk and will look after you. I’ll be by to check on you tomorrow.” He patted my arm and stepped away.
The steady rhythm of Jacob’s thumb—back and forth across my skin—kept the panic at bay, but just barely.
In the background, people spoke in whispers.
“But how does a lady… from a train in her nightclothes… someone did this to her… jumped… in danger. Memories… return soon… tell us herself. She’s safe here.
A discreet message… two stops in either direction…
all inquiries come through me… then we decide. ”
A woman’s steady voice cut through the whispers. “Is it safe to move her upstairs to my sewing room?”
Jacob gathered me into his arms. We swayed side to side as he carried me up the steps. The movement increased the pounding in my head. I clung to him until darkness swallowed me whole.
The dull ache in my head pulled me from sleep. I pried one eye open. I dared not sit or stand.
Soft humming drifted across the tiny room, and the young dark-haired woman from earlier rose and helped me to another long drink of cool water. The familiar melody brought peace, but the song’s name escaped me.
“I’m Josephine,” she said, smiling. “But everyone calls me Jo. Since you don’t remember your name, I’ll call you Vee—because that’s what’s stitched on your nightgown, plain as pie in a pan.” She pointed. “The letter V.”
“Nice to meet you, Jo.” I traced the satiny purple letter. “It’s strange… how memory works. How can I know this is a V without knowing what it stands for? Not the name. Not the life.”
“Let’s see,” Jo said. “There can’t be too many names beginning with V. Victoria, Vivian, Velma?” She watched me. “Any sound right?”
I shook my head slowly, bracing for the pain. The right side of my skull throbbed, thick and heavy, but it had lessened compared to earlier. With Jo’s help, I pushed myself upright.
The room tilted. My empty stomach lurched. I froze, gripping the bedframe until the spinning eased.
We sat in a dormer room illuminated by a single flickering candle.
Shadows stretched across the slanted ceiling.
Two chairs crowded the window, and my small bed filled the rest of the room.
A braided rug padded the floor beneath my bare feet, and I dug my toes into the thick cords of colorful fabric.
Jo turned the second chair into a makeshift table and offered a plate of food and a bowl of soup. My stomach growled, and I devoured everything.
Jo chattered as she brushed her straight brown hair, slightly lighter than her brother’s, until it reflected the candle’s light.
I learned I was on the Jensens’ farm in Harmony Lake, Minnesota.
I couldn’t remember my name but committed to memory the names and ages of all four Jensen children: Jacob, twenty-two; Jo, eighteen; Erik, fifteen; Beth, eight.
“You must be famous or important,” Jo said.
“Like a lost princess. I’ve never met anyone so lovely, even with a bump on your head.
Your nightgown is finer than my Sunday best. Ma thinks you must’ve been escaping some trouble.
Otherwise, how could you have fallen from the train?
Maybe an evil uncle who doesn’t want you to become queen?
Are there queens in Canada? You don’t look Canadian. ”
“A lost princess?” I said. “If only I could find such a happy ending.”
“Jacob says I read too many stories, but he should talk. He knows more stories than anyone. He says his stories are real, and that makes all the difference.”
“I think I like stories,” I said.
Jo grinned. “Who doesn’t? Anyway, I should let you rest. We’re about the same size. You can borrow some of my clothes. Sorry, they’re plain. I’m across the hall. Call out if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Jo. Good night.”
“Night, Vee, or Veronica or Vandene or Vera.” She helped me back under the covers.
Jacob. With kind hands. And apparently lots of stories.
My lids sagged as I searched for memories and found only sleep.