25. Viola
Viola
Would it be best if my memories never returned?
In the early morning darkness of the only bedroom I could remember, reality softened at the edges, like a wisp of music from another room. Surely I would soon wake, the music would fade, and the farm, the Jensens, and the kisses would blur to nothing.
The creak of Jacob’s bed carried to me as he rose to start the day.
I rolled to face the wall, pressed my hand to the smooth surface between us.
My blisters ached as I gripped the edge of the blanket and listened as the Jensens started their day.
Long lazy minutes passed. I may have dozed.
Then, the scent of warm bread drew me from my bed.
By the time I’d dressed and found the kitchen, it was empty except for Mrs. Jensen, who settled me at the table with a plate of food.
“I told them not to wake you.” Mrs. Jensen sat beside me. “After all the excitement yesterday, I didn’t expect to see you before noon.” Something about her face stilled my fork midway to my mouth despite my rumbling stomach.
She drew a shaky breath. “Vee, I don’t know how to thank you.”
Surprised by the sheen in her eyes, I set down my fork, my breakfast forgotten, and covered Mrs. Jensen’s tightly clasped hands with my own.
“Jacob told me what you did.”
My composure slipped out of rhythm. Surely he hadn’t told her about the hay shed. About the kissing. Oh, blast…
I swallowed. “What I… did?”
“You ran into the storm right after the lightning strike and jumped the flooded creek. You ran after him to the burning house.” Her voice caught. “You went in.” She shifted to cover my hands with hers—though hers trembled. “You went in when he didn’t come out.”
Her emotion resonated with mine, vibrating my voice. “I was so scared when he didn’t answer.”
“Fool, stubborn boy, taking on every burden. What was he thinking?—”
“There was so much smoke, I almost couldn’t find?—”
“He said…” She drew in a shuddering breath. “He said he wouldn’t have made it out—not without your help.”
“Anyone would have done?—”
“No, my dear brave girl. Very few people would have done what you did.”
And then we held each other.
“You must’ve been sent to watch over my Jacob.”
I laughed through my tears. “He saved me first, remember?”
Mrs. Jensen kissed my forehead. “Then you two had best stick together. For safety’s sake.”
I rubbed the tears from my face. She stayed by me while I ate.
“There was a time after Jacob was born when we thought he would be our only child. His birth was difficult. Doc was unsure if I’d be able to carry more children.
Over the years, the good Lord heard our prayers and blessed us with three more healthy babes. ”
“You have a lovely family, truly. I like and admire every Jensen exceedingly well.”
She clasped my shoulder. “In my heart, you are one of us, a fifth child who has finally found her way home. No matter what your memories bring, you will always have a place here. You will always be one of us.”
“Thank you. That…” I struggled to push words past a tangle of fear and hope. “It means more than you know.”
Mrs. Jensen asked, “How would you like to help me with some writing?”
I cleared my dishes, and she produced a pen and paper.
She poked through cupboards and bins, calling out items. I sat at the table, transcribing her list of supplies.
The scratch of the pen kept time with a new melody rising at the edge of my memory.
My foot tapped along in the warmth of the kitchen, in its welcome.
She leaned over my shoulder to read the list. “You have lovely penmanship. Beth would love it. You would never guess, but my youngest is prone to fanciness. Would you write a little note to her? Just something silly. She’ll appreciate your calligraphy.”
“I would love to.”
I tore the page in half and used the blank portion for the note. After a moment’s pause, I set pen to paper.
Dearest Beth,
I am extraordinarily pleased to confirm your suspicions. I am, in fact, a princess. I cordially invite you to return with me to my castle and serve as my lady-in-waiting.
Yours truly,
Viola
I added an extra flourish beneath my signature.
The room tilted.
The music inside me swelled to fortissimo.
My name.
My hands shook. My pulse beat an impossible tempo. I stared at the note.
Mrs. Jensen hurried to my side. “Vee, what is it?”
I handed her the paper.
She sucked in a gasp when she reached the closing. “Viola, yes, that’s perfect. Hello, my dear Viola.”
I stood, pressing my hands to the table. “I didn’t know my name until I wrote it. I didn’t even think—my hand formed the word out of habit.”
We embraced again, this time without tears, and I rushed outside to share my news.
To tell Jacob.
I am Viola.