33. Jacob
Jacob
After a sleepless night, I finished my morning chores with one eye toward the road to town, my stomach a rocky field. Jo finally returned from her errand and gave me a wave and a nod. Something kicked in my chest. She would come. One last time.
Conversation at breakfast centered on the farewell party preparations, and soon everyone set to their appointed tasks.
Axe in hand, I went to butcher and pluck the chicken that would be the centerpiece of our dinner.
Later, I took a quick swim, then spent twenty minutes searching for alfalfa stems with intact, dried purple flowers in the hay shed.
I tied them with a bit of purple ribbon from Jo.
It was the first time I’d given flowers to anyone other than Ma.
I added my token to the small basket, already filled with other items from our family.
Viola and George arrived promptly at five o’clock in a gig borrowed from the Inn’s stable. Erik tended to the horse, and I welcomed them, offering my arm to Viola, who was lovely as ever in one of Jo’s dresses.
“Beautiful.” The word was too small.
She smiled, but her eyes told a different story.
The girls had set out jars of purple, yellow, and white wildflowers on the front porch, along with three bowls of flowers on the table, evenly spaced on a linen runner bordered with Hardanger lace.
Ma had taken out the good china, and Beth had tied the matching linen napkins with loops of purple ribbon.
The table had never looked finer.
Viola stopped a step inside the door, her arm pressed firmly to my side, and breathed deeply. “Smells delicious, Mrs. Jensen, and goodness, this is the loveliest table I’ve ever seen.”
She faced us brightly and bravely, but her voice hitched. “I don’t know how to thank you all.”
Ma untied her apron and wrapped Viola in a hug, which unfortunately pulled her from my arm.
“My dear, you have earned a special place in our family and will always have a bed in my sewing room anytime you want to visit.” She kissed Viola’s cheek, then placed her hands on Viola’s shoulders.
“Next time, though, please let us pick you up at the depot. No need to get off the train before it stops.”
Laughter filled the kitchen.
I introduced George, and everyone was herded out until dinnertime, except for Jo, who stayed to help Ma.
George settled into an armchair near Pa. The two were well-matched for conversation.
I placed a hand lightly on Viola’s back and guided her to sit with the others on the front porch, where the warm breeze carried the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers.
That rebellious lock of hair had fallen loose again, and I paused before we stepped through the door to tuck it behind her ear.
I couldn’t force a smile, but I let my hand cup the side of her face.
I didn’t understand even a fraction of what swirled inside me, other than knowing I would miss this woman.
How could I ask her to stay? How could I ever be enough?
Her emerald eyes stared back, unreadable, and she leaned her cheek against my hand. I could’ve stayed like that forever.
After an eternity, or perhaps a minute, I lowered my hand and guided her to the most comfortable chair on the porch. I settled on the top step near her feet and leaned back on the railing.
Beth and Erik overflowed with curiosity and kept Viola busy with questions about her life in Chicago. I drank in her voice, her face, her warmth. I ached to keep some part of her with me, if only in my memory. Where was my fight?
When there was a brief lull in the conversation, Viola said, “You will never guess who I saw earlier today.” She raised an eyebrow in my direction, but I was at a loss for even a single guess.
She said, “When George and I went down for lunch at the Inn, a tall gray-haired man called out, ‘There she is, the Lady!’ Of course, we turned to see what the excitement was about, and who do you think rushed over? Mr. Lund. He grabbed my hand and pumped it so vigorously I thought he would pull it right off. He told George all about how I rescued him from the fire. But his story was a bit different from ours as he thought I was the Lady of the Lake come to save him and that I had recruited Jacob to help, you know, for extra muscle. He said anyone would have thought the same if they saw my eyes, and we all laughed when he noticed George’s matching pair.
” She glanced around the group before adding, “He apparently told quite a few folk about how the Lady saved him, so you may hear some rumors. We wished him well in Iowa, and he ran to catch the train.”
Laughter cut through the storm within me.
I tapped my lips, assumed a mock expression of deep thought, and said, “Now that you mention it, with your wet hair hanging dark about your shoulders and your eyes like the deepest water of the lake, I’m not sure why I didn’t immediately think you were the Lady, too.
” I smirked and added, “Except, of course, you were wearing clothes,” and they all giggled.
During grace, Pa peeked at me and said, “Please watch over this in-trep-id lass who found her way into our hearts. We will miss her, Lord. Grant us the wisdom to learn from her example so that we too may face the future with fearlessness and fort-i-tude.”
Dinner was delicious, but I hardly ate. The rest of the evening slipped away in a blur.
Viola cried when she was presented with her basket of gifts, and she hugged the whole family when it was time to leave. How could it be time for her to leave? I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. But the words lodged in my throat.
I waited at the back, last in line to say goodbye. She stood before me with eyes cast down, and I drew her tightly to me. My face pressed into her hair, and I inhaled her scent. I memorized the feel of her in my arms.
As we embraced, the others filed out to the yard, helping with the gig, preparing to wave their goodbyes.
She clung to me but said nothing.
Finally, I kissed the top of her head, though it was not where I wanted to kiss her, and whispered, “All will be well, Viola.” I said this to convince myself as much as her. I had no plan that could make it well. Not yet.
Releasing her from my arms was nearly impossible, but in a kind of trance, I managed to walk down the porch steps, her hand gripping my arm. I clasped her hand and helped her up to sit next to George.
She squeezed my hand painfully before letting go.
But she did let go.
It was time to let go.
As they rolled away, Viola raised a hand and called goodbye, but she didn’t smile. At least, I didn’t think she smiled. It was difficult to focus on her face as the gig carried her off. My vision had gone all blurry.