16. Jacob
Jacob
Ifinished my morning chores and helped Pa to the kitchen before Erik came in from the barn.
The scent of bacon and fresh bread filled the room.
“Breakfast smells great, Ma.” Giggling overhead drew my attention.
The rich tones of an unfamiliar voice mixed with my sisters’ murmurs. I couldn’t make out the words.
Pa shot me his lopsided grin. “Have a seat, my boy.”
I gave a low laugh. “What’s got you giddy as a girl with her first pony?”
“Just happy the good Lord is on my side.”
“And what side is that, Pa?”
“Not two days ago, you said you were too busy to chase girls, so He tossed a right pretty one straight off a train and into your arms.” He slapped my back with his good hand. “Take heed. The Lord has in-ter-ced-ed.”
“Apoplexy must be messing with your head,” I teased. Four years ago, Doc warned me Pa’s apoplexy might scramble his words like it scrambled one side of his body. Stubborn Scandinavian blood had kept him alive, but not fit enough to work the farm—not without me.
“Besides,” I said, “the Lord is not in the business of throwing pretty girls off trains.”
“Ah, so you agree she is pretty?” he said, grin widening.
Beth bounced down the stairs, followed by Jo and the stranger.
But pretty was too small a word for her.
It would take a whole story to do her justice.
Voices hushed as she descended. I hoped my mouth wasn’t hanging open like a barn door.
She stopped halfway down and clutched the railing, pale except for faint shadows beneath her eyes. She swayed.
My legs moved before I paused to think, carrying me to her side. I offered my arm. She leaned into me with a grateful nod, and we descended together. Her touch made my steps awkward, like my shoes were on the wrong feet.
Jo spoke in the reading voice she used for distinguished characters. “Good morning, everyone. I’m pleased to introduce our honored guest, Miss Vee.”
I settled her next to Pa, who beamed at her. Beth and Jo set the table. Erik came in from his chores and made Vee an elaborate bow, which made her laugh. She had a mesmerizing laugh, deep and rich as fertile soil, full of promise. Best not tell her it reminds me of dirt.
Pa patted her hand. “An excellent good morning to you, Miss Vee. How’s your re-cu-per-a-tion?”
“I’m feeling so much better and am hopeful my memories will soon return. In the meantime, I don’t want to be a burden. Please, don’t fuss over me.” She was almost enough to give burdens a good name…
I smiled at her from my place on the other side of Pa. Her answering smile was nothing like dirt—more like the afternoon sun sparkling on the lake.
“I owe you all so much already,” she said. “What can I do to help?”
Ma leaned past Vee to set platters of steaming food on the table. “So you don’t mind if we call you Vee, at least for now?”
“You must call me something and Vee makes the most sense.”
“Morning, Vee,” I said. “Glad you’re feeling better.”
Pa cleared his throat to say grace and looked pointedly at me when he said, “And we especially thank you for allowing us to assist one of your flock in her time of need.”
We were well into breakfast when Doc appeared at the door. Another plate was fetched, and he happily joined us. He nodded to Vee. “Good to see you up and about. If you feel up to it, familiar motions might help you unlock your memories. But don’t overexert yourself.”
“You can help us with some light chores,” Jo said, and Beth clapped her hands.
Vee asked, “Have you had other amnesia patients, doctor?”
“Honestly, I cannot say that I have. I’ve had patients who’ve had some sense knocked out of them.” He pulled a face. “Usually those with little enough sense to spare. But never anything like this.”
Vee’s expression fell.
I said, “But you know about amnesia, right, Doc?”
“Certainly. The best-known treatments include triggering the brain with familiar activities or surroundings.” Doc’s voice softened. “It’s also important to have patience while the brain takes the time it needs to heal.”
Her expressive eyes dropped to her lap, and I fought the urge to reach for her hand.
Doc said, “A colleague of mine in Minneapolis has a special interest in brain trauma. I’ll write to him if your symptoms don’t quickly improve.”
I searched for a lighter topic, but Beth beat me to it. “Doc Nelson, will you tell us a story, please? How about the one about the singer?”
“That’s a good one, Beth, but you know Jacob tells it best.”
Doc liked to joke that when he’d slapped my newborn bottom, instead of wailing like every other baby since Adam and Eve, I’d asked for a story. I collected stories like other boys collected marbles and arrowheads, storing them away in my bear trap of a memory.
I glanced at Vee with a sudden twist in my gut. All of her stories had been lost along with her memories. She focused on her plate with a small crease in her brow.
“Please, Jacob.” My siblings raised a racket with their entreaties.
How long had it been since I last told a story?
I’d been tired, trapped, uninspired. Vee raised her eyes.
I felt the familiar tug of a story waiting to be told, and with her watching me, I reached for it rather than pushing it away.
“All right, calm down,” I said, palms raised.
“Can’t tell you anything over all this ruckus.
” A tiny tremor ran through my fingers, and I shifted them to my lap as the room quieted.
“Now, this story takes place many years ago, long before Pa had his apoplexy.
Back when Doc was a young man, fresh out in the world, before he ever set foot in our beautiful town of Harmony Lake.
You see, Doc was at church on a sweltering summer Sunday morning, the kind that melts the whitewash off the walls by noon.
The preacher droned on, determined to deliver the long version of his message, despite the heat.
Then, a man collapsed right smack in the middle of the aisle.
“At first, everyone thought it was the heat, but when he stirred and struggled to sit, it became clear that he could no longer speak. Whispers spread through the congregation. Struck dumb by God, they said. Covetous man, they said. Doc noticed the weakness in one of his legs and quickly diagnosed apoplexy rather than smiting, much to the relief of the man’s family.
“Unfortunately, a speedy diagnosis did not lead to a speedy recovery. Never again could the man say, ‘I love you’ to his wife, or ‘Fire!’ if the house was burning down, or even ‘Please, pass the potatoes.’ No talking, you see, but every Sunday, he sang. His baritone rang out clear and strong as he joined in the church hymns, sweet as an angel, until a year later when he died peacefully in his sleep.”
I raised my brows and leaned in to whisper, “A case of apoplexy for certain, but perhaps a touch of smiting as well.”
Beth clapped her hands.
Vee’s smile opened up a whole can of foolish notions.
I met her considering eyes and found amusement tucked under her long lashes.
The attention set my cheeks burning. I clapped Erik on the shoulder and jerked my head toward the door.
“We’re off to make hay while the sun shines.
” I didn’t dare glance back. Despite Pa’s urgings, a pretty girl was the last thing I needed.