59. Viola
Viola
I’ve lost him.
I bent and scooped up a handful of dry topsoil, crunched the clumps in my fist, and let the dirt sift back through my fingers. It was my dirt—my responsibility.
I was glad of Jo’s steady company. Thank goodness she was excited to have me for a neighbor. “He was furious,” I said. “Pacing. And when he looked at me… the hurt on his face.”
My vision blurred. Jo’s touch was gentle on my arm. “Viola.” Her voice pulled me back to the present.
I swallowed the hitch in my voice. “I suppose I can’t blame him. I handled everything poorly.” I sighed. “Should’ve told him.”
“Should’ves won’t mend what’s done,” Jo said. “Only what you do next.”
“I just didn’t expect him to leave town before we had a chance to compose ourselves and make nice.”
We followed the ridge near the ruins of the old Lund house.
I could still taste ash on my tongue. The barn stood untouched at one edge of the farmyard.
Resilient. Surveyors measured distances, workmen cleared debris, and the engineer pounded in stakes to mark the site of my future windmill.
Plans, progress, and hope. But despite the bustle, my limbs felt as heavy as my heart.
I had misjudged everything. And he had run away.
I’d hoped Jacob would see a different side of me—one that had nothing to do with kissing.
I worried he wouldn’t understand my desire for independence, purpose, and the challenge of a farm.
It was stupid not to trust him. He’d never given me a reason to doubt.
But he longed to leave the farm behind, and here I was, choosing the very life he wanted to escape.
He would think me a fool. Probably already did.
Jo nudged me gently. “He’s used to hard work, not confrontation.”
“A very public confrontation.” I blew out a shaky exhale. “What good is a scene if there’s no audience?” I tried to force a laugh, but couldn’t. He was gone.
I didn’t want him to think I was doing all of this because of him.
That was no part of my motivation—or so I told myself.
Even if I’m still in love with him. Yet when his eyes first met mine, and he rushed to me, his gaze full of warm regard and so much more…
I almost faltered. I almost threw myself into his arms right there in the middle of the Inn.
It was utterly ridiculous. Still, the memory of his face in that moment warmed me all the same.
“Jacob can be stubborn and prickly,” Jo said, “especially when it concerns someone he feels strongly about. We’re all guilty of that, I think.”
We stopped and turned toward the Jensen farm, back across the creek. A train whistle sounded in the distance.
“He’ll sort himself out. Probably,” she said. “Stomp around out in the world. Stew a bit. A little distance should cool his temper.”
“So there’s hope?” My voice cracked. “I haven’t lost him… lost his friendship?”
Jo wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “We all see how much he cares about you.”
I leaned into her reassuring warmth.
She gave a wry smile. “Your argument in the middle of town will sting his pride. He’s hurt, I’m sure. He’s never had his friendship tested quite like…” She gestured vaguely toward town. “But I’d like to think his friendship isn’t so easily lost.”
I sighed. “It was so mortifying. He was unkind, but so was I. My pride didn’t come through unscathed, but I won’t give up on our friendship.”
The tension that had clung to me since the Inn finally eased.
My gaze landed on a grassy prominence above the creek, and an ache settled in my heart.
It was where I had stood after the fire—soaking wet and shaking—where I’d trusted him with the fears that threatened to tear me apart.
Why hadn’t I trusted him with my plan for the farm?
Maybe I feared losing him long before the Inn.
I hugged my arms around me.
Maybe I feared having someone to lose.
I lifted fingertips to my lips, smelled the fertile loam still under my nails.
I remembered his strong arms around me, his slow, warm kiss, the smoke still clinging to us, the sun peeking from under the clouds, the way he pulled me back together.
Yes, he’s a good man. A good friend. I should trust in his goodness.
But he needs to stop running away before I can apologize.
I can hope for what happens next. Time to look ahead.
Jo followed my westward gaze. “I always wondered why Mr. Lund faced his house north. This is a much better view with the creek below, the wide sunsets framed by Jensen Hill. Is that what you’ll do?”
“Exactly. No reason to waste this view.”
Even if it meant facing the hay shed. Madness, to put that landmark front and center. And yet… I’m already upholstering my chairs to match his eyes—might as well frame the site of our first kiss through my parlor window…
But Jo wasn’t wrong about the view.
I squeezed her arm, then turned from her and continued up the ridge, toward Father. He meandered alone above the farmyard, hands clasped behind his back. He had avoided giving instructions to the builder or engineer, making it clear this was my project.
I linked my arm with his and caught the familiar aroma of his clove-scented soap.
My other hand closed around the heart-shaped rock in my pocket—my sign from the Lady.
Seemed ages ago that I had asked her how to find my way home, but it had been not quite three months.
I’m getting closer, Lady of the Lake. But I’m not there yet.
Father said, “This place. It has a wild beauty that suits you.”
“I’m glad you see it, too.”
He didn’t mention Jacob—though I’d earned a reprimand. All my life, he’d guided me through mistakes with gentle wisdom. But with Jacob… he was letting me find my own way.
We stood together, my future spread before us.
Untended fields stretched between the barn and the lake, waiting for me.
I waved a hand toward the treetops that marked the edge of the lake.
“There’s a sheltered beach perfect for a dock and a little summer cottage.
” I pointed back toward the barn. “Over there, I’ll plant an orchard and a hedge of berry bushes with a kitchen garden. ”
“If you have a plan, it will work out. I just wish it were closer to home.” Father wrapped his arm around me. “I suppose it’s what I deserve after making that ultimatum. I should never have tried to force your hand.”
I leaned onto his shoulder. “I should never have run away. But here we are…”
The rich, earthy scent of the surrounding land smelled like responsibility and home. It smelled like Jacob. I haven’t lost him yet.