26. Jacob
Jacob
The front door banged open, and a chorus of excited voices rose in the yard. I leaned out the barn door, forearm on the frame. The excitement centered around Vee, who beamed and gestured as she spoke.
My stomach lurched. This was it. No… not yet.
Her head swung around. She spotted me and dashed toward the barn.
I braced myself for the blow her memories would bring.
“Good morning to you, Jacob.” She stopped less than an arm’s length away—radiant, bouncing on her toes, unable to stand still. Excited to leave me behind…
I longed to reach out.
“Morning,” I said, my voice soft but sour. “You look mighty pleased.”
“My name is Viola. I remembered. Well, my hand remembered when I was writing. But it’s true. I am Viola.”
Her memories. I froze.
She waited. Eager. Wanting me to share her joy.
“Viola.” I tested the sound on my lips. It felt right—felt like her. “It suits you.” I leaned in, grazed her ear with my lips. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
A flush rose on her cheeks.
“Did… you remember anything else?” My hands remembered the feel of her hair, of her cheek cupped in my palm.
“No, nothing else. Not yet.” Her brow furrowed. “It’s like I catch a glimpse from the corner of my eye, but when I turn to look straight on, the memories disappear. They’re closer to the surface, though.”
Relief eased my breathing, but panic whispered with every heartbeat.
Was it wrong to hope she stayed lost—stayed here without her memories?
With every breath she slipped farther away. Best to savor every bittersweet moment.
I glanced around the yard. The girls bent over the garden beds. Pa sat in his porch chair. Erik carried out the wash for Ma. Everyone focused on their work.
I flashed what I hoped was an enticing smile. “Come in out of the sun, Viola. You look flushed.”
I stepped backward into the barn’s shadowy interior, wondering if she’d follow. Did she regret our time alone yesterday?
I didn’t wonder long. She followed without hesitation.
Once she was hidden from view, I caught her hand and drew her aside, pressing one hand to the rough wall beside her shoulder.
She let out a surprised squeak.
“Viola,” I said, stretching her name long.
She tilted her head up to mine, lips parted in invitation.
I leaned in, bringing my mouth almost to hers, but not touching. Not yet.
“Viola.” I repeated her name, drawing it out, touching her only with my breath.
Her breath hitched—soft and sharp. “Jacob.”
The sound of my name on her lips was too much.
My mouth met hers.
I kissed her—slowly, savoring every second. As if we had all the time in the world. As if this wasn’t a kiss goodbye. The muscles in my arms flexed with effort as I held myself away from her, touching only her mouth, though I ached to pull her close.
Across the yard, Beth’s voice rang out, calling for Viola.
Viola’s lips stilled beneath mine.
I pulled back in frustration, then glanced around, searching for any excuse for us to be in the barn besides kissing. Moments later, we stepped out with fishing gear in our arms and met Beth only steps away.
Soon we sauntered along the path to the lake, with Viola and me again bringing up the rear, her hand wrapped securely around my arm.
The sky was a perfect blue, but it felt as though I dragged the thunderstorm along with us, dark, brooding, invisible. Waiting to strike. Jo linked arms with Beth and drew her ahead toward the cove.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I said.
Viola’s shoulders shook with a soft laugh. “It may sound silly,” she said, peeking up at me, “but I was thinking about how the Jensen farm and the Jensens are my whole world.” She squeezed my arm. “Truly the only world I know and remember.”
I took her hand and laced our fingers together, careful of her blisters. “But is it a world you like?”
She leaned her shoulder into mine. “So much.”
“It’ll be nothing to you once your memories return.” I’ll be nothing.
“Don’t say that. It’s your world. It matters to me.”
“Hmph. My world.” I shrugged. “A world I’ve wanted to escape for years.”
“Escape where?” she asked. “Tell me.” Warmth radiated from her open face. “I want to know everything about your plans… about you.”
“Everything?” I flinched. Would she think less of me for wanting more than this farm?
We walked in silence for a few steps. The hay shed loomed ahead, daring me to forget everything but her.
“Please… I’d tell you everything about me if I could.”
I bit back what I was tempted to say.
Instead, I fell back on the familiar words I’d told myself—and everyone else—for years.
“California was supposed to be my first adventure. Then Pa had his apoplexy.”
“And you decided to stay.” She regarded me with an arched brow.
“Decided—right. The burdens pile up without me asking for any of them.” Knowing she’d soon be gone made me prickly as a cocklebur. Made me want to push her away. Better to be the one who left than the one left behind.
Jo, Beth, and Erik stood ahead on the path, looking across the creek to the ruins of Mr. Lund’s house. We’d reach them in moments. The scent of woodsmoke hung in the air.
I wanted to be honest—to let Viola see the dark places, no illusions. “I love my family and would do anything for them. I think you know that. But what I’ve always longed for is the freedom to leave them. To leave this burden of responsibility behind.”
Viola nodded. “You took on so much when you were so young.”
I shook my head. “Still, it sounds terribly selfish.”
“No.” She squeezed my hand.
“What I want more than anything… is to be responsible only for myself. Just me, off on an adventure with nothing and no one else to worry about.”
Viola’s hand went slack in mine as she blew out a slow breath.
My jaw clenched as I tasted the lie in my words. I was too afraid to admit the truth, even to myself. How could she make me want to stay?
“So why did you stay? Give up your dream of freedom?”
“It was what I needed to do. My duty. Still is. But I haven’t given up… I’ve only been biding my time.”
Viola slid her hand from mine.
The ruins came into view. I’d walked over before breakfast to take stock and found the barn empty of wagon, horse, and Mr. Lund. “He wasn’t there this morning. Must’ve headed into town last night or at first light.”
“Poor man,” Jo said. “First he lost his wife, then his house. Do you think he’ll be all right?”
Viola shook her head at the charred wreckage and said, “Once he’d recovered from the shock, he was surprisingly calm.
Said he’d been utterly miserable without his wife.
Said the fire was a blessing in disguise, a reason to leave Harmony Lake.
” Her gaze snapped back to me. “I think losing his home was nothing compared to losing his wife.”
Her voice dropped low. “Love causes more devastation than lightning.”
Her words cracked something inside me. I reached for her—but found only air.
She turned and strode toward the cove without waiting for me, passing the spot where I’d scooped her up and carried her without a second glance.
At the cove, she trudged to the spot where she’d tossed her bouquet to the Lady.
She inspected the shoreline, shuffling back and forth, head bowed, searching for her sign.
Finally, she crouched and scooped up a small item.
It fit easily in her palm. She stared at it for a long moment before slipping it into her pocket and crossing to where the others had laid out blankets.
I’d poisoned the little time we had left. Black ink in water, impossible to take back.
Stupid.
When Beth interrupted our kiss in the barn, Viola’s face had been pink and flushed. Minutes ago, she’d surveyed the ashes of Mr. Lund’s house with spots of color high on her cheeks. But now her skin appeared pale and waxy, almost as lifeless as when I first found her. Was she ill? I rushed forward.
Her gaze found mine. When our eyes met, the intensity of her displeasure pushed me back a step—scared me more than the fire had.
What sign had the Lady given her?
Mercy.