22. Jacob
Jacob
The late morning sun beat down as Erik and I finished cutting and raking the alfalfa.
A train whistle rang out in the distance, and we slipped back into our shirts.
I turned toward the place where I’d found Vee, and raised a hand when the train drew even with our field.
A striped hat waved out the engine’s window.
The clanking cars slowed as the train prepared to stop at the Harmony Lake depot. Probably one of the reasons Vee had survived. That and her strong will. I smiled to myself, though the back of my neck prickled.
Comet streaked past, headed back up the hill path.
I followed his course to find Jo and Vee at the crest peering down at us, their skirts fluttering in the light breeze.
Vee raised a hand then bent to pet Comet.
I jogged up the path, arriving while she still spoiled him with a belly rub.
She had a mayflower tucked behind her ear, as did Jo.
“Very becoming,” I said.
At her questioning look, I tapped my head just above my ear.
A sudden blush appeared on her cheeks. “Oh, Jo and I…” She motioned behind her. “Along the trail. She picked?—”
Jo said, “I need to get back to help Ma, but Vee is tired. Walk her back after she rests, will you?”
Before I could argue, Jo set off down the path toward the house. I cupped the back of my neck, then slid a sheepish look toward Vee. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
“I was about to say the same thing,” she said.
“This way, please.” I tilted my head toward the tree and led her to the south side.
She settled on a flat rock nestled at the roots and leaned back on the trunk. I dropped onto the ground beside her, close but not touching.
The rolling land spread below in a patchwork of untamed prairie and cultivated fields. The unnaturally straight train tracks cut across everything.
“Have you traveled?” she asked. “By train, I mean.”
“Not sure I would call it traveling. But I did take the train. Thirty miles over that way for the Grange meeting last year. No place interesting.” I tugged absently at the grass.
“Brought back seed for the winter wheat I planted in the field by the barn. First farm to have it in Harmony Lake. Supposed to have a higher yield if it can survive our winters.”
“So you’re a trailblazer, at least regarding…” She paused. “Widdle weed.”
I barked a laugh. “Winter wheat. It’s planted in fall and stands in the field over winter. Will make my first harvest in the next month or two. It’s the patch that looks kinda like grass down by the barn. But I like your name better. Widdle weed sounds like a crop full of mischief.”
She smiled. “Mischievous and adorable wee widdle weeds.”
Warmth hummed along my ribs, and I bumped her playfully with my shoulder. She looked away and I followed her gaze to the tracks.
I said, “Hope to make it farther someday.” The familiar longing rose inside me.
“You must have been on a real trip,” I dropped my voice low.
“Wearing your fancy pajamas on the train. You were probably in one of the first-class cars. Headed west.” I sighed and let my eyes follow the tracks into the distance.
“Might’ve been going all the way to the coast.”
She stilled beside me. “I wish I could tell you. But I don’t rememb—” A hiccup-like sound cut off her words.
My attention snapped back to her as I muttered, “Idiot.” I was a fool to poke at her fresh wound.
She stiffened and leaned away.
“No, no. I’m the idiot. Not you.” I wrapped her hand in mine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reminded you.” I ran my thumb lightly back and forth over her skin. Please let it ease this, too. “What can I do?”
“Tell me something about you,” she whispered. “Or about this place. Give me a new memory…”
Vee’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as I frantically searched my mind for something—anything—to say. Her nearness disoriented me, scattering my thoughts like wheat chaff in the wind. Focus.
I plucked the flower from behind her ear, my knuckles grazing her smooth cheek. By accident. Probably. I held the flower out before us, relieved my hand appeared steady. I didn’t feel steady.
“This is a pasque flower—some folk call it a mayflower, since it blooms in May.”
Her fingers intertwined with mine, and my breath hitched. Green eyes flicked to me and then back to the flower.
Tell her about the flower.
“It grows wild here on the prairie, a true native. Once, I dug some up and found they have a taproot that goes down several feet. Believe me, those little clumps are anchored for life.”
I pulled in a breath. “The buds appear after the bleakness of winter—a symbol of hope and rebirth. They bloomed late this year and were a bit sparse, but they always return.”
I twirled the stem between my fingers and glanced at Vee.
She focused on the purple bud in my hand, and her lips softened—not quite a smile, but no longer a frown.
“The flower is sacred to the Lakota, who believe it represents the entire span of life. When the bud is closed and round, it symbolizes infancy. Their name translates to something like baby’s belly button.”
Her lips curved at that. My shoulder pressed against hers.
“In full bloom, like now, it represents the prime of life. With time, the purple petals fade and fall away, leaving only the soft silver whiskers of an old man.”
Vee ran her fingers across the fuzzy stem. The tiny hairs caught the sunlight in a glowing halo.
“The whiskers are soft, like down,” she said.
Her fingertips brushed mine, completing the circle of our arms. Our eyes met, and everything blurred but her face.
I swallowed hard. “It’s the perfect flower for you.” I held her gaze. “It appears in rough soil where it has no business blooming, stubbornly holding on through weather that would flatten anything less resilient. Yet it still manages to be the prettiest thing on the prairie.”
Her lips were so close. Mercy. Thank goodness I inherited some of Pa’s stubbornness.
She turned her face away. “You think too highly of me.”
“No one has ever accused me of giving compliments lightly.”
She huffed a small laugh, soft and deep in her chest.
“Truly, I admire your ability to cope in such a trying situation with grace and good humor. You’re far stronger than me. I’d be hiding under my blanket, sucking my thumb like a baby.”
She tilted her face toward me and laughed, bringing her lips back within easy reach. Her laugh faded.
I jumped up. Brushed dirt and grass off my pants.
I helped her to her feet with one hand, still holding the mayflower in the other. I pressed the purple bloom into her fingers after deciding I had nowhere near the self-control required to risk replacing it behind her ear. I’d likely cup her cheek, lift her chin, and then…
Curse my imagination.
I led the way back to the trail, stealing a few glances at her lips. As we navigated down the steep slope toward home, she held my arm while I held on to what little sense I had left. And I wished the path home were longer…