93. George
George
Ipaced on Viola’s front porch as the sky over Jensen’s hill relaxed from deep blue into the pale shimmer of twilight.
The muted clomp of horse hooves in the snow drew my attention to the end of the drive, where Jacob once again guided his wagon toward Viola’s home.
I blew warm air into my cupped hands. The memory of warming Sarah’s hand as we worked on the seating chart flickered in my mind and fanned a fire I’d tried to bank.
The Jensen family arrived for the housewarming dinner with a rush of excitement that swept me along into the house.
I crossed to Sarah’s side without meeting her gaze, remembering how I’d mooned at her earlier.
I introduced her to Jacob’s family. Mrs. Jensen wrapped me in a warm embrace and patted my cheek as she glanced between Sarah and me.
I retreated outside and helped Jacob’s father up the porch steps and into a chair near the fire.
The bright-eyed man looked about him with a broad smile and said, “Splen-dif-erous. Perfect home for such a lovely, well-loved lass.”
“Well said, sir.” I clapped him on the shoulder.
Beth and Jo were deep in conversation with Sarah over by the door.
I couldn’t see Sarah’s face, but Jacob’s sisters seemed charmed by whatever she was saying.
A tender pressure rose in my chest at their easy laughter.
I ambled over and let my hand rest lightly on her lower back.
Just a casual, friendly touch that cracked my restraint.
She shifted a fraction of an inch toward me. I told myself it was only an unconscious sway—not anything deliberate—but the sweetness of it stole my breath.
“You’ll have to come back in the summer,” Jo said. “I can take you riding or?—”
“I’ll teach you how to fish,” Beth said. “Bet you’ll catch a whopper.”
Sarah smiled. “I’d like that very much. Thank you.”
“We’ll give you the full tour.”
Jo said, “George can come, too.”
“These two know everything there is to know about Harmony Lake,” I said. The warm fire and warmer company filled the room, the whole house really, with boisterous good cheer. I couldn’t stop smiling like a fool—a barely restrained lovesick fool.
Jacob carried in a large basket filled with housewarming gifts.
I guided Sarah to our couch. Viola thanked everyone and insisted we open enough wine to share.
I collected glasses for Sarah and me, then returned to sit pressed up against her.
I had to sit close. Our couch was barely wide enough for two, more of a large chair, really.
After a nod from Viola, Jacob stood before our cozy group and cleared his throat. Chairs creaked as everyone shifted to see. Voices trailed off. In the hush, Jacob’s deep voice filled the room. “To date, I have submitted twenty-two columns to The Star, the best newspaper in the world.”
Hoots and cheers erupted. He gestured toward Father and me. I raised my glass to him.
Quiet descended again when he pulled a folded sheet from his pocket and shook it open.
“I hold my twenty-third, which, if George approves, will be my first column for the new year. I finished it today and would like to share it with all of you.” He paused to glance around with a lopsided grin.
“Not to fret, George keeps me to a strict 350-word limit.” Once the chuckles quieted, he cleared his throat, winked at Viola, who leaned forward in her chair, and started in.
Tales from the Rails
Ride along with me on an adventure into the American West, a land I roamed in my imagination long before I ever boarded a train.
When I was a mere pup, stretching to peer over the counter at the bright jars of penny candy, I watched the trains thunder past and imagined myself a great explorer, though the farthest I’d ever traveled was the next town over.
I’ve longed to leave home for as long as I can remember, dreaming of horizons far beyond my little world.
Now, I count myself fortunate to bring you, my most excellent readers, along as I meet interesting fellow travelers and seek snow-capped peaks, distant shores, and all manner of wondrous sights—whether carved by nature or crafted by human hands.
Yet somewhere along the untold miles of my wanderings, I stumbled upon a truth I had not sought.
A man may chase a hundred adventures across a thousand miles, yet still feel an ache he cannot outrun.
Adventure alone cannot fill a heart. A single thread winds through every person I have met—from the high-society types in first class to naive Minnesota farm boys such as yours truly.
That common thread is a longing for home.
Home is the most dreamed-of refuge, the destination every heart yearns toward.
The farther you roam, the more insistently it calls.
And it means something different for each of us.
As we chug forward along the tracks of life into a new year, my earnest wish is that each of you finds your way home.
Life’s greatest adventures are not found along the tracks.
They are found in our hearts. Found in the truths that settle deep in the quiet of the night.
And the truth is, my home is no longer a place on any map.
It is a particular well-loved person, someone I will be seeing soon.
I have set my course toward her, drawn by that same steady thread.
She is home, a welcome end to every journey.
No matter how far I wander, there is no place like home.
His words floated around us, warm and true, a spell that no one wanted to break. I knew the ache he spoke of, the one a man couldn’t outrun.
Jacob folded the page and stepped toward Viola, who beamed at him. My heart swelled to see the love between them, and my admiration for Jacob grew. I swiped a hand over my face and rubbed discreetly at my eyes, which were inexplicably moist.
Sarah turned to me. “Careful, George,” she whispered. “Your romantic heart is showing.”
Jacob raised his glass and said, “There’s no place like home.” He touched his glass to Viola’s. Around us, glasses clinked, and voices echoed the phrase.
I tapped my glass against Sarah’s. “No place like home. After listening to his column, I think I might be a little in love with Jacob.”
Sarah laughed and snuggled against my shoulder, filling my nose with the scent of her soap. “I understand,” she said, “there is a doctor hereabouts who is an expert in the treatment of swooning. Let me know if you need him.”
I lifted my arm to rest on the couch behind her and spoke in her ear. “I’m giddy as a smitten kitten—good heavens, I’m undone.” I paused to draw a breath. “Hold off on calling the doctor, but, well… you see the trouble I’m in.”
Her smile loosened a tightness in my chest. “It was romantic, wasn’t it?” she said. “Perhaps we should call him Jane.”
I shifted a hair closer. “He might have Jane beat. He only needed 350 words.” I smoothed a hand over Sarah’s hair where it brushed my cheek. Jacob was right. I couldn’t outrun this dangerous ache. And I was beginning to think home smelled like almonds.