97. Sarah
Sarah
Aknock sounded at my door. I squinted into the bright morning light but stayed tucked beneath the warm covers. Could it be George? I smoothed back my hair and caught the faintest trace of sandalwood on my hands.
“Sarah?” Viola’s voice was muffled by the door.
“Come in.”
Viola skipped over to sit on the bed, smiling like a cat in the yarn basket.
I yawned and stretched. “You look pleased.”
She laughed and clapped her hands. “Like Mrs. Newman said. Lots of kissing is working, isn’t it?”
I grinned. “My heart is stretched to the limit of happiness. And I have reason to hope.” I propped up on an elbow. “I think he told me he loves me last night in his roundabout George way.”
She flopped on the bed beside me. “Tell me everything.”
I recounted our conversation—how George’s answer shifted from a no to a yes.
Viola sighed. “Who knew my brother could be so romantic?” She smiled over at me. “It only gets better, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Marriage.”
“Shh. Don’t say it.” Heat rushed to my cheeks. Only a dream. Yet maybe… I rolled to face her. “I don’t want to jinx it… but do you think it’s possible? For George and me?”
“Sarah, he loves you. And you love him. That is what happens next.”
“But what if I’m wrong?” Icy fingers tightened around my heart. “What if he’s just being… George?”
“George?”
“You know… charming. Devastating. Heartbreaking. What if—” I forced out the words. “I’m no different from all the others. Just another girl he’s dazzled into dreaming an impossible dream.”
“But you are different, Sarah.”
“It just seems…” I shook my head. “Too good to be true.”
“The truth of his love is on his face. He can’t stay away from you—can’t resist touching you.”
“Is he awake?”
“Why yes, he is.”
I ached to be near him, but my pulse skittered at the thought of seeing him in the morning light. What if everything was different? What if it wasn’t?
“Six days,” Viola said. “I’ll be married in six days…”
“I’ll have to get used to calling you Mrs. Jensen.”
Viola smirked. “I like the sound of that. Mrs. Jensen.” She gave me a pointed look. “Mrs. Van?—”
“Shh.” I giggled. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
Viola said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m excited to start my new life, but…” She pressed her lips together.
I said, “I’ll miss you, too.”
She wrapped me in a hug. “I think you’ll be my sister for real soon.”
“You’re not supposed to speak wishes aloud until they come true.”
“So you admit it’s your wish?”
“Viola. Don’t make me say it.”
“Let’s go down.”
She helped me dress, and we went downstairs arm in arm.
George had walked over to the Jensens’ farm to deliver two fresh loaves of Julekake from Viola.
Another loaf of the Scandinavian bread, packed with cardamom and candied fruit, waited on the breakfast table, sliced and toasted.
Amazement washed over me when I learned Viola had helped make the loaves this morning.
“I have a purple apron,” she said. “I’m learning to bake bread. It’s so satisfying.”
I took a big bite. “Amazing. You made this?”
“Cook helped a lot. But I bet I could almost do it myself next time. We made four loaves, so eat a lot.”
Viola expected Jacob to return with George at any minute for our trip into town. I ate with one ear tilted toward the door, listening for familiar footsteps. He loves me. I think he loves me. Viola says she can see it on his face.
We sat with her father in the front parlor and chatted about the wedding.
I caught sight of a bundled figure approaching the house, and my heart jumped in my chest. George.
My cheeks warmed. My gaze flicked to the couch where we had been caught kissing.
A gust of icy air swept in along with the handsome man.
The wind had tousled his fair hair and his cheeks were rosy from the cold.
“Jacob and Jo will be by shortly to take you to town.” He shed his outer layers.
My pulse warbled with a wild vibrato. I clenched my pennies. He loves me. I tilted my head, searching for George’s eyes, but he was focused on his coat.
“You’re not coming?” Viola asked.
George strode to the fire without looking at me. “Not sure.” After a long minute, he gave me a restrained smile—one I’d never seen before, one that stopped long before it reached his eyes. How could he smile at me like that after last night’s kisses?
I could still feel them on my lips, my neck. His kisses… oh blast. He told me himself that his kisses were lies. After our first kiss in the starlit snow. And I’d lied when I told him it didn’t count. I’d said we were only friends and he’d never corrected me.
Last night wasn’t real. George left the fire and sat, leaving a chasm of frosty couch between us, wide enough to swallow every hope I’d dared to hold.
“Did you try some of Viola’s delicious bread?” He sounded too chipper.
I gave Viola a pleading look. Her eyes flashed with confusion. I wasn’t imagining it.
There was a ringing in my ears, faint, then louder, like a kettle forgotten on the stove. I’d heard the comments about George.
Yet I knew him. I thought I knew him.
My mouth went dry. I stood and moved toward the kitchen. “I need some water.”
George followed, his footsteps hesitant. I darted forward and tried to hide my tears.
“Sarah,” he said, arresting my flight with a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t turn toward him. He squeezed, gently, as if I might break.
Too late for tenderness now.
I didn’t move. Didn’t want to see his face. Stared at the kitchen door.
He explained in a low, halting voice. “Sarah. I… I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Please. I shouldn’t have… last night. Should’ve known better. I understand now…”
Understand what? The question lodged in my throat.
He inhaled sharply. “Don’t you see? I can’t press further. Not with you here… I have to stop.”
He stepped closer. A cold draft found me in the hall, sending a shiver down my back. The heat of him pressed toward me, but I didn’t lean into his warmth—though I’d never been so cold.
His voice turned breathy, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to lose control—please. You understand?”
Something inside me cracked. I flinched beneath his grip. He dropped his hand as if burned. I pushed into the kitchen, heavy with the scent of cardamom. And he did not follow.
When Viola bundled me into Jacob’s wagon ten minutes later, George was nowhere in sight.
The brightness of the fresh snow stung my eyes, making them water as we stepped from the sleigh. Jo linked arms with me and chattered as she guided me through Harmony Lake. Her words blurred into the crunch of snow beneath our boots as my thoughts drifted toward George.
We stopped near the Inn, where a bundled young man shoveled snow.
He descended the steps and shaded his face with a gloved hand. “Josephine Jensen, is that you?”
“None other. Timothy, this is Sarah Everson, visiting from Chicago. She’s a dear friend of Jacob’s soon-to-be bride.”
His pale blue eyes were open and kind—nothing like George’s shuttered gaze this morning.
“You sang at the carol service,” he said. “Gave me shivers.”
“Thank you,” I murmured as Jo towed me away.
“That’s Timothy,” Jo said. “Jacob’s childhood friend. He’s been apprenticing with a photographer in Minneapolis and is visiting for the holidays. Have you had many pictures made?”
She paused, waiting for my answer.
“Oh,” I said. “A few.”
“Maybe Viola will want him to take photographs for the wedding.”
We continued through town, stopping at the general store. As we entered, a cheerful bell jingled, and the young blonde woman behind the counter turned with an easy smile.
After friendly greetings, she unwrapped a large piece of delicate white lace. “Won’t this make a magnificent veil against Viola’s dark red hair?”
“It’s perfect,” I said, though envy twisted beneath my ribs.
Another group of customers entered the store with a ding of the bell and a gust of cool air.
“What about you, Sarah? Do you have a special someone?” Jo asked with a grin. “Anyone I might know?”
I pressed my hands against the counter. “Ah… no. I have no one.”
“Really? George spoke highly of you when he sat with Pa earlier.”
“Oh…” The word scraped out of me.
The shopkeeper, Ellie, leaned in with mischief on her face. “Viola’s brother cozied up to you at the carol service. Half the town is convinced you two?—”
“He’s only a friend,” I said.
“It’s all right,” Ellie teased. “You can tell us how you really feel.”
“George and I will only ever be friends, truly.” Heat flared. If Jo and Ellie were so concerned about my prospects, they should be lecturing George.
Ellie glanced toward the door then shot a pointed look at Jo.
Jo continued, “And he’s the only person I know who can keep pace in conversation with my Pa for hours on end. I’m not giving up on the two of you yet.” Jo eyed the newcomers over my shoulder and froze.
“You’re wasting your time.” The words came out sharper than I intended, and horror filled Jo’s face at my tone. The bell clanged again behind me. Only a few more days, and then I’d be home.