36. Jacob
Jacob
Idid not cope well with Viola’s departure. So what if I didn’t brush my hair? I threw myself into plowing and overdue chores, avoiding the others as much as possible. Yet I found no wisdom in my isolation.
Sleep didn’t come easy, and that fool of a whip-poor-will kept making a racket every morning before dawn. I was tempted to hunt down the lonely bird and put it out of its misery.
Ma didn’t force me out of my funk or make me face anything head-on.
Pa, however, had a lot to say about my sulky behavior—which he did at great length whenever I came within earshot. I didn’t find any of it particularly helpful. Even with Pa’s expansive vocabulary.
I did hide his dictionary.
For a day.
With time, I hoped life would return to normal. I’d get through this first painful part. Scrape that ache out from behind my ribs. Then, I’d go back to dreaming about adventures instead of dreaming about Viola. But dreams are shifty characters.
Jo and Beth overcompensated for my lack of cheer, especially during mealtimes. They chattered on about anything and everything. Naturally, the most interesting news centered on rumors about Viola.
Beth’s friend Molly had heard it on good authority that Viola was the Lady of the Lake.
She was magical.
Jo heard from her friend Bea that Viola was a princess who passed by and fell in love at first sight. That’s right—fell in love with me. Unlikely. But it was my favorite rumor. It was generally agreed that she would’ve forfeited her crown if she married a commoner, so I’d been forced to let her go.
Some said I’d sent her away. That she was a fancy mail-order bride Pa had ordered for me.
But it didn’t work out. She was too high and mighty for Harmony Lake.
According to this nonsense, I disliked her and insisted Pa apply for a refund.
Jo hinted that Ellie may have had a hand in spreading that one.
Ellie Porter was the first girl I’d ever kissed—back when I was fifteen, and she was thirteen.
The kiss was innocent and sweet and never repeated.
Over time, Ellie grew from bright and kind to gossipy and opinionated, and I avoided her company.
She’d been staring at Viola in church. That was probably when she concocted that crazy rumor.
Eighteen days after Viola left, a large parcel arrived from Chicago. It contained gifts and letters.
“Oh, look, Ma,” Jo said, as she twirled and held up a stylish blue dress that suited her coloring.
The others eagerly opened the neatly wrapped items. My insides twisted as I pictured Viola buying and wrapping the presents. She was kind, thoughtful, and difficult to forget.
Erik pulled out a new wide-brimmed hat and Beth a woven green wrap with scalloped trim.
“Viola says this wrap reminded her of the fish I caught, except she remembers my fish being much bigger than the wrap.” Beth giggled.
Ma’s gift included a small paring knife, the perfect size for her hand, two bars of lilac-scented soap, and a small golden brooch shaped like her favorite bloom, embellished with purple enamel and three small amethyst gemstones.
“Jacob, did you tell Viola that lilacs are my favorite, or did she figure that out all on her own? Sweet girl.”
I swallowed around a sudden lump and shook my head.
Pa got a walking stick with a fancy silver pommel shaped like a fox.
Jo carried two small rectangular items to me.
My fingertips skimmed over the paper, following the creases her fingers had made when she wrapped them.
Could almost feel the echo of her touch.
The first package contained a caramel-colored leather-bound journal, and the second a fountain pen. I opened the journal, and warmth rushed through my chest at the sight of the note tucked inside the journal’s cover. I unfolded a small square of paper covered with flowing, loopy script.
Dear Jacob,
Every great storyteller needs a safe place to keep his stories. I hope you like it.
Yours,
Viola
But she was not mine, not really. She was gone.
There were two letters packed in with the gifts. The first was addressed to the entire family and was a gracious yet short note of thanks from Viola, which Jo read aloud.
“The second letter is addressed to you, Jacob.”
Jo handed over the thick, cream-colored paper and asked, “What does it say?” before I even had a chance to unfold the letter.
I spread the paper on the table with unsteady hands. It wasn’t Viola’s script.
I read it through.
Twice.
My skin pulled too tightly around me.
“It’s from Viola’s brother, George. He and his father have invited me to travel to Chicago.” I wet my lips. Coughed. “To stay with them for a few days so we can discuss—face to face—a proposal.” I barely squeaked out the last word. Not enough air.
“Oh, exciting! Wish I could go,” Beth said.
“When?” Ma asked.
“I’m to let them know when it would be convenient for me to be away from the farm for a week or so. They’ll make all the travel arrangements.”
“A proposal, aye, best you be goin’ soon as you’re finished extending your field.
” Pa stopped to count on his fingers. “Should be no problem in about two weeks. Plenty of time to get back before your winter wheat needs to be taken in. Ma, get the paper so Jacob can write a letter. He can try out his new pen,” he said with a wink.
I didn’t register what Pa was saying. The only word echoing through my mind was proposal.
My heart raced as if I had sprinted up the hill.
Carrying two cows. When Ma brought the paper, I worried my suddenly sweaty palms would smear the ink, so I scrubbed them against my pants.
I mustered up all the focus I could manage and wrote a short, polite reply.
Once it was finished, I let my thoughts run wild.
Proposal? Did they find out about the kissing? Was George suggesting marriage? What else could it be? Chest tight, guts churning, I went out to work the land.
I toiled behind the walking plow and added a half acre of newly tilled ground next to my experimental field of winter wheat—or as Viola called it, widdle weed—which seemed to be thriving. It was physically challenging but didn’t require much mental effort.
I didn’t want to get married. That was not my plan. At least not anytime soon.
But… if I had no choice, if I was obligated to do the honorable thing… Well, I could think of worse things than having Viola for a wife.
Though my mind railed against it, my heart readily embraced the idea, and I spent a pleasant day lost in the fantasy of marriage—of being forever able to talk to her, make her smile, kiss her.
I considered what it would be like to lie next to her without a wall between us.
Could almost hear her rich laugh. I looked over the newly turned black earth, pleased with my progress.
The grin on my lips felt strange after so many days of glowering.
The fantasy I’d indulged all day faded as I paused to look around. I couldn’t leave the farm, and Viola was a fancy city girl. She wouldn’t want to live here. Why would she marry a simple farmer?
And she had sworn off marriage and love. This proposal was not her idea. She wouldn’t want to marry. She wouldn’t want me.
George’s words returned to me, weighing down my heart until it sank into the bedrock.
He’d said she was on the train because their father told her she had to get married, so she’d hatched a plan to run away…
I lifted the reins and clicked my tongue. Enough dreaming. Too much, really. Time to get back to work.
But.
Maybe.
I would at least get to see her one more time.