34. Viola
Viola
Heartsick. I spent my last night in Harmony Lake tossing and turning at the Inn. I didn’t remember my dreams, only a lingering fear. Would I ever sleep soundly again, knowing what I’d left behind? Mr. Jensen had named me intrepid, but for once, he was wrong.
Greta arrived with the train car and smothered me with fussing and affection, but even her gentle hands couldn’t soothe the discord inside me. Soon, I was seated once again in the parlor of our family’s private car with George beside me.
I sat quietly, clutching my heart-shaped rock, dreading the first inevitable lurch of the train toward home. The forty-ton locomotive couldn’t have power enough to pull me away from Harmony Lake.
Yet it did.
As the train inched forward, I stepped to the wide window facing north, leaned my forehead against the cool glass, and strained to see Jensen’s hill as it came into view.
A single tree and a man I would know anywhere stood sentinel on the crest above the field of freshly cut alfalfa.
I pressed my hand to the glass until he slipped from view, but I couldn’t reach him.
Then I retreated to my stateroom and slammed the door.
Father awaited us on the platform in Chicago, looking every bit a stern businessman, arms folded, mouth drawn. But when he saw me, there was only joy, and I swayed with relief.
“Viola!” he called, running to fold me into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Father. Oh, please, try to forgive me. I know I was a fool.” I was surprised to find I hadn’t run out of tears, and he wiped them away.
He beamed down at me. “You are safe. You are home.” He brushed back my hair and added, “All will be well.”
His words of comfort drove into me as sharp and deep as a blade, an echo of Jacob’s words. I gritted my teeth and buried my face in Father’s shoulder. Why did every man I cared about suddenly start spouting that phrase?
“Jacob kissed me.”
Sarah gaped at me in the sunlight slanting through my bedroom windows.
We stared at each other for a long moment and then did what any poised twenty-year-olds would do at such news—we jumped on the bed, squealing.
We made such a racket that Greta poked her head in the door to make sure nothing was amiss, which only fed our laughter.
After the shock of my words wore off and our laughter ebbed, we lay side by side, staring up at the canopy. Sarah nudged my shoulder. “I need details.”
“It was during a thunderstorm, and I’d hurt my hand.” I showed her my palm and the mostly healed blisters as evidence. “Jacob washed and bandaged my palm, and then he kissed my hand, right here.”
“Oh,” Sarah huffed. “I didn’t realize it was a hand kiss. I’m not sure that counts.”
“Patience… and then he pulled me to him and kissed my lips, and it was like… like sight reading a work by one of the masters, reaching for the next chord in a new melody.” I drifted off, lost in the memory.
“And then?”
“And then the house next door was struck by lightning, and we had to go rescue the owner from certain death.”
“What?” Sarah sat up so quickly the bed creaked.
“Oh, Pemberley, Viola, I hardly slept or ate, I was so worried about you. Now I find out that you were off kissing some handsome farmer and running around saving people, like the heroine in a book, all while not remembering me at all…” She sniffed. “Frankly, I’m a bit jealous.”
This brought renewed hysterics, and Greta poked her head in for another check.
When she discovered our state, she shook her head and gently scolded, “If you two keep having fits of the giggles, I will have to put your hair in pigtails and give you lollipops like a couple of silly little girls.” Her words, of course, did not restore calm.
In the end, the laughter was contagious, and Greta joined in.
She hugged us both and said again how she was glad to have me home.
Later, after the childish giggles passed and Sarah and I had talked for hours, I confessed.
“I didn’t say goodbye. Not until I rolled away in the gig.
Before that, we were alone in the house for a few minutes.
He wrapped his arms around me… held me so close.
I leaned into him, but I couldn’t say anything around the lump in my throat.
Could barely breathe. All the words stayed stuck in my heart. I missed my chance…”
Tears trailed down my cheeks.
Sarah held me as I cried and didn’t speak until I’d wiped my face.
“Viola, do you love him?”
“What? No!” I covered my head with a pillow. “Well… I hardly know.”
“What do you feel?”
I sighed. “I have many feelings. New feelings. Of course I do. He saved me. He kissed me. But what do I know about love—other than I need to avoid it? It’s not like I can hire a tutor. Who can I talk to about falling in love?”
We made a plan for the following day to find out about love.
“How did you know you were in love?” I asked as I stared up at Mr. Newman’s portrait.
“Yes, what did it feel like?” added Sarah.
I turned from the portrait to the tiny, wizened woman who grinned broadly at our questions. Mrs. Newman clapped, leaned back in her chair, and folded her wrinkled hands over her heart.
“Ah, my dears, let me tell you the story of how I became Mrs. Newman.” She smiled up at the portrait.
“It all started at a subscription ball. I walked in with my dear friend Grace and glanced discreetly about the room, curious who might be there, though I wasn’t hoping for anyone in particular.
As I scanned the crowd, my gaze met Charlie’s—he’d been looking straight at me—and I couldn’t look away.
As if we were the only two people there. ”
She sighed. “Charlie’s eyes were blue with the tiniest rim of hazel, and his lashes were twice as long as mine.”
Caramel-brown eyes flashed in my memory. Uninvited. Overwhelming. Inconvenient. I covered my mouth, but the heat of my breath across my palm unsteadied me. Blast. I sank into my usual chair, gripping the armrests.
Mrs. Newman continued, “Back then, I could see every detail of his face clearly, even from across the room. I managed to tear my gaze away and turned back toward Grace, asking, ‘Who is that man behind me?’ She peered over my shoulder with a slight frown—for Grace didn’t like to admit there was anything she didn’t know.
Finally, she shook her head and confessed ignorance.
“I remember Grace’s eyes going wide, and she whispered, ‘He’s been staring straight at you, and now he’s coming this way.
’ I can tell you my heart did a full flip at her words.
Even though I couldn’t see him, some part of me sensed he was walking closer.
You see, I felt all the weight of my future approaching.
I turned back toward him, and the skirt of my favorite blue gown flared around my legs.
I came face to face with him as the next piece of music started—the piece you play for me so well.
He stepped up to me and held out his arms. And I stepped into them.
We waltzed together before we were introduced.
Before we said a single word to each other.
I didn’t even know his name. My feet didn’t touch the ground the entire dance. ”
“He walked straight over to you?” asked Sarah.
“Charlie was like that. Once he set his mind on something, there was no holding him back. At that moment, he was focused entirely on me. By all accounts, I used to be a beauty.”
I said, “You’re still a beauty.” After considering the scene she’d painted, I asked, “But what did it feel like? How did you know it was love?”
“From the day we first waltzed, he was a magnet, and I was made all of metal. An invisible force drew us together.”
That flutter with Jacob… I shoved the thought away.
Mrs. Newman nodded. “That was the spark, but that wasn’t love, not yet.
For you see—my dears—love comes with opening up to each other, sharing hopes, dreams, stories.
It comes with allowing another person to see every part of you, even the parts you dislike about yourself.
Love is about knowing someone and wanting to share everything with them, the fun, the struggles, and the quiet moments. ”
“Sounds a great deal like friendship,” I said. My kind of friendship—the kind I could have with Jacob. He could be my friend. Of course, he could.
“Exactly,” she said. “Yet, it’s even more than friendship. There’s also the attraction. You know, the tingling down your spine, the blushing, the pounding heart, the increased awareness, going weak in the knees at the lightest touch, always wanting more.”
But wanting more was dangerous. I wouldn’t spend my life talking to a portrait. I didn’t want that kind of ache.
She paused with a smirk, leaning forward in her chair, thin white eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “And, of course, there is the kissing.”
At this, Sarah and I shrieked and grinned.
“The kissing makes you all wobbly inside and keeps you from thinking about anything or anyone else.”
Isn’t that the truth! I huffed out a breath and shrugged when they both turned at the sound.
Later, as we walked toward home, I considered Mrs. Newman’s wise words for the fiftieth time. There was no question…
“I think I might love Jacob,” I said with a dramatic sigh. “And it’s misery, as I expected.”
“I’m… sorry?” Sarah smiled sheepishly at me. “It feels wrong to say that about love.”
Love is utterly irrelevant. I raised my chin and ignored my pounding heart. “I must be objective and logical. I don’t want to suffer this misery long-term. Not like my father has suffered. I’ll follow my manifesto. My plan will work.”
“It seems a bit late for your manifesto,” Sarah said. “You just admitted to being in love…”
“I can abandon the part that is love. I’ll disentangle myself from the romance.” If I keep saying it, maybe it will be true. “Jacob will be an excellent friend. And this love business will pass, especially when we’re apart.”
Sarah, usually all kindness and patience, smirked—actually smirked—at me and said, “I’m not sure that’s how love works. I believe Shakespeare has a sonnet.”
“A sonnet? Really? Sarah, poetry isn’t objective or logical. Emotion is… unhelpful.” As was the insistent allegro of my pulse.
I considered my relationship—my friendship—with Jacob. “Did I tell you? He’s a planner, like me. He plans to leave the farm and go on a great adventure.”
I frowned. Of course, the stubborn man made it clear it would be a solo adventure. Didn’t he say something about it right before George arrived? Something important?
I said, “He thought I was trying to change everything about his plan. The whole conversation is fuzzy. It was right before I swooned when George showed up.”
“Do you think he loves you?”
I clutched the heart-shaped rock in my pocket and steadied my breathing. “I think… he likes kissing me, but is that love?”
“Mrs. Newman thinks so.” We both grinned as we remembered our dear old friend talking about kissing.
I set my jaw. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll be friends. I’ve decided.”
Sarah gave me her arched eyebrow look.
I glared back. “Friends.”
With treacherous flutters.