23. Viola
Viola
I’d made Jacob’s bed, smoothing the blanket over his pillow. Now in the early morning darkness, I strained to hear the sounds in the next room. The creak of his bed. A light bump on the wall. Low male voices. Jacob’s heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs.
I rose, dressed, and presented myself in the kitchen, where Mrs. Jensen was finishing breakfast. “Good morning, Vee. How are you?”
“I’m so much better today, thank you.”
Mrs. Jensen’s wooden spoon stopped mid-stir. “Yes, but how are you getting on without your memories?” As I walked past, she reached over and rested a hand on my shoulder. “You put on a brave and cheerful face, but I’m a good listener if you ever want to talk.”
I allowed myself to wilt slightly—fearing I might sink into her warmth and never want to leave. “Goodness knows how I managed not to break any bones, or worse. I should be thankful. Still… I am adrift. The memories sit behind a curtain I can’t push aside.”
Mrs. Jensen said, “Have faith, my dear,” and wrapped me in a hug that smelled of freshly baked bread.
“You have a place here with us for as long as you need.” She pulled back, her hand steady on my shoulder.
“Doc already asked the station manager to send anyone with inquiries to him. If there’s no word by Sunday, Jacob plans to cast a wider net, all the way up and down the line. ”
I smiled back through watery eyes, nodded, and turned to set the table.
Jo and Beth hurried in with a bowl of fresh strawberries.
Erik and Jacob were only a few steps behind.
Jacob strode past to the bedroom and helped his father to the kitchen.
Before coming to the table, they spent a long moment gazing out the window toward the west. Jo and Mrs. Jensen shared a look, and breakfast was hurried onto the table before the two men returned.
Soon, the meal was underway, and Jacob announced, “I went over to check the alfalfa this morning. The warm weather cured the hay and it’s all ready to bring in. But…” He checked to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “There’s rain on the horizon.”
Around the table, forks moved double time, and the well-mannered Jensens spoke all at once around mouthfuls of food.
Mr. Jensen continued his usual deliberate motions and noticed my confusion.
“Ah, yes.” He gestured with his fork. “The hustle and the bustle. See, we can’t put up wet hay.
It can cause spontaneous com-bus-tion. Poof!
” He made his eyes wide. “We need to get what is dry into the hay shed before the rain.”
I nodded and chewed my food more quickly. Within five minutes, we scrambled out the door. Jo and I filled canteens, Erik and Beth tacked up the team, and Jacob gathered pitchforks and tossed them with a clatter into the hay wagon.
Once out in the field, Jo showed me how to use the pitchfork to toss the hay onto the wagon and mumbled regret at having wished for rain.
Beth led the team slowly between two rows of cut hay. Jacob loaded from one side of the wagon with blinding speed while Erik and Jo worked together on the other, barely keeping pace.
I tried to relieve Jo, forcing heavy forkfuls of hay up and over the edge of the wagon. The dust fell back into my face. I couldn’t find the right rhythm and my hands soon became sore and raw. I surrendered the pitchfork and instead carried canteens from worker to worker.
When I brought a canteen to Jacob, he stuck his pitchfork in the ground and reached for the water without speaking. His damp shirt pulled tight across his chest as he tilted his head back and drank deeply.
I remembered his bare chest at the lake, remembered his muscles flexing under my hands when he lifted me so effortlessly. The memory staggered my breathing.
His eyes met mine. Serious. For a full breath, neither of us moved—not even to blink.
Nothing in the world could make me move.
Jacob advanced two steps toward me, boots crunching across the cut hay, gaze locked on mine.
I held my breath, still frozen. His arms reached around me. Not touching me. Not holding me. But stirring my hair as he placed the canteen strap over my head and shoulder so it lay across my chest with the canteen hitting low at my hip.
I remembered to breathe. The heady combination of his soap, sweat, and the alfalfa overwhelmed me. Blast. He was so close.
The wagon lurched ahead a few paces, and the spell was broken. With a slight shake of the head, he called, “Wagon’s full. Back to the shed.”
We continued for hours, pausing only to gulp down a field lunch carried out by Mrs. Jensen.
As we approached the far end of the field, Jacob set a savage pace in a full-out race against the rain.
The fourth load threatened to overflow. Jacob climbed up in the wagon and stomped down the hay as the last of it was loaded.
Rising gusts of wind carried a metallic tang, mingling with the scent of the fresh-cut alfalfa. My unruly hair whipped about my face. The darkening sky cast the field into shades of amber. The team stomped their feet and challenged Beth’s control.
Jacob yelled, “That’s all. We need to move!”
He instructed Erik to drive the loaded wagon straight into the barn. There wouldn’t be time to unload the hay into the shed before the rain was upon us.
Jo and Beth hopped onto the back of the wagon. I dashed across the field to gather the empty canteens. I shouted into the wind, “Don’t wait for me.” I’d left them lying on the dirt near the place I’d fallen.
Jacob brushed past me, bent to grab the canteens, and shrugged them over his shoulder. The wagon was more than halfway back through the field. He waved Erik on. The wind picked up, plastering my skirt to my legs.
Jacob stood before me, his dark hair tousled by the coming storm. “Can you feel it?” he asked in a low, thrumming voice.
“Yes.” How could I miss the tension between us? But what am I feeling?
He leaned toward me, his breath warm on my ear. “Rain.”
“What?” I blinked.
He pulled back to stare down at me. “You can feel the coming rain. Sky’s heavy with it. Can smell it on the wind. Want to take a quick look?”
At my nod, we headed toward the hill instead of the wagon trail.
Jacob stopped halfway up the slope and turned to face west. He pointed to where a curtain of purple connected the advancing clouds to the land.
The field of wheat undulated and tossed like the sea in a storm.
A flash passed through one of the tall clouds, illuminating it from within.
Jacob counted aloud. Before he reached four, a deep rumble rolled over us. I felt it in my chest as much as I heard.
“We need to hurry, but not over the hill, not now that there’s lightning.” He grabbed my hand and towed me along, angling back down toward the wagon path. “Careful,” he called back, “it’s steep.”
We rushed downhill, hands clasped tight. The canteens bounced and clanked at his hip in time with the unnamed music building in my mind. The sky above us darkened.
My sore hand ached as he pulled me along, but the thrill of having Jacob’s hand again around mine made the pain tolerable. Then a sudden moist, tearing sensation made me cry out in pain and pull free of his grip.
Jacob stopped, and I almost knocked him over. He grasped my shoulders and kept me from stumbling, looking me over with concern.
I held my hand toward him, palm upward. A large, angry red spot stood out against my pale skin, even in the fading light.
His nostrils flared. “How?”
“I wanted to help Jo with the pitchfork, but I… I think I did it wrong.”
Jacob frowned at my hand. “Jo should’ve known better… your delicate skin. You’re obviously not a farm girl.”
Delicate? The word stung more sharply than my palm. He thinks I don’t belong here. Thinks I can’t belong here. I yanked my blasted, delicate hand from his grip. “I was trying to help. Don’t blame Jo. It’s my fault… I don’t remember how to do things!” The clouds flashed.
Jacob opened his mouth to reply as thunder reverberated around us. The first smattering of raindrops fell like ice on my hot cheeks.
We glared at each other.
I will decide where I belong and where I don’t.
Jacob’s gaze shifted over my shoulder to the advancing storm. He sprang into motion, pulling me along by my wrist, avoiding my injured palm. We ran down the hill like fingers flying over a keyboard without missing a single note in a mad dash toward the looming release of the final chord.
Prestissimo.
I held my skirt high with my free hand to keep from tripping. The hay shed came into view. We dashed inside. Jacob closed the doors as the torrent of rain overtook us, hammering on the metal roof.
Fresh-cut hay filled the close, dark space with alfalfa’s sweet, dusty aroma. Somewhere in the dark hung the fat barn spiders I’d dodged earlier. Windblown hair brushed my arms, and I took a half step closer to Jacob.
Hay dust floated in the single beam of light shining between the doors.
Jacob guided me into the light and raised my hands before him.
Three small intact blisters rose on my left palm.
But on the right, the largest blister had torn open, raw and throbbing.
He produced a clean white cloth from his pocket, tore it in half, and wrapped the first half around my left hand, protecting the intact blisters.
His lips moved, but his words were lost in the noisy deluge pounding the roof overhead.
I leaned in and tilted my ear toward him, straining for his voice. Warm breath brushed my cool ear. A shiver twisted down my back.
“Sorry,” he said, “this will hurt, but I need to clean and cover your wound.”
He filled my senses—the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the shadow along his jaw, the clean scent of his soap.
His careful grip held my right hand between us, and he mouthed the question, “Ready?”
I nodded and braced myself, but wasn’t prepared for the sharp sting when Jacob poured tepid water over my wound. Blast, blast, blast. I willed myself not to cry. He wrapped my wound with the remaining strip of cloth.
His warm breath skimmed over the surface of my hand as he worked, raising goosebumps along my arm. When he pressed a hot kiss into the hollow of my palm, I gasped.
Jacob stayed bent over my upturned hand, but his eyes found mine through the dark waves that had fallen forward across his forehead.
My other hand found his chest before I knew I’d stepped closer. His heart drummed beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, damp with sweat and rain.
His right hand tucked a stray lock behind my ear. His finger slid tenderly along the line of my jaw to my chin, which he tilted upward—raising my face toward his, my lips toward his. I wanted his kiss, even as it terrified me.
Yes.
Then his lips touched mine with a soft caress. Heat flooded me. Too soon, he pulled back slightly to meet my eyes. One corner of his lips tugged up.
I grinned up at him.
His hand slid around to my back, fingers splayed wide. In a smooth motion, he pulled me to him as his other hand cupped the back of my neck. Our lips came together again, and now I was kissing him back.
My breath caught. My spine arched. My hands slid over his chest and shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him closer.
The storm raged on around the shed, but his kiss held my full attention. Then his hands cupped my face. Adjusted the angle. Something wild coiled around us, tightening with every breath, every touch. The fine hairs on my neck and arms stood on end.
Jacob pulled back for a breath. When his mouth once again found mine, a blinding flash illuminated every seam in the small shed, and an impossibly large whip cracked overhead.
I screamed and clung to Jacob, who looked upward to the roof.
He pulled me into a fierce embrace. “Lightning. It didn’t hit us. We’re safe.” We held each other as the glow slowly faded.
Jacob had kissed me.
I’d kissed him.
My vision adjusted to the dim light. The music narrowed to the beat of his heart beneath my ear. My mind spun, but I had no regrets. Though my memories might tear me away from him when they return… if they ever return.
I nuzzled against him, closed my eyes, let the safety of his arms steady me. He wrapped himself around me, his breath hot in my hair.
When I opened my eyes, an orange glow flickered through a small knothole on the far wall. I stiffened. “What is that?”