50. Jacob
Jacob
My heart pounded as I escorted Viola to the parlor after our interrupted kiss. How could she look so composed? George and Sarah waved us over to their card table.
Viola proved an excellent partner for whist, able to devise a winning strategy while still engaging in spirited conversation. I struggled to think of anything but her mouth pressed to mine.
The evening was warm, the press of people around me stifling.
My collar didn’t help matters. But the parlor windows stood open, inviting the outdoors into the refined space.
I caught a hint of fertile soil, grass, and the nearby lake, and the familiar scents steadied me.
Cool air brushed my hot cheeks. Soon, I made solid plays, nodding along with the flow of the conversation.
After our victorious first round, Viola went to fetch strawberry rhubarb torte for our table.
While she was gone, Sarah leaned toward me. “You know, Viola requested the torte in your honor. It’s her way of showing that you’re special.”
Viola walked back to me, glowing like a harvest moon amid her family, neighbors, and friends. She balanced two small plates in each hand.
The torte was excellent.
Sarah continued an earlier conversation about the paper. “Consider the influence of the Star. The written word is a powerful force.”
George rubbed his palms together. “Jacob will soon join our ranks and use his words to stimulate our sense of adventure.”
Viola said, “I love seeing the world vicariously through another’s eyes.”
“A good book can make you forget yourself,” I agreed.
She leaned toward me, her elbow on the table, her chin cupped in her hand. “It is the second-best escape I know.”
Could she mean our kiss? My heart stuttered. Did it change things for her? Mercy.
George told Sarah in a loud aside, “Viola has already promised to be Jacob’s number one fan.”
Sarah arched a brow. “Such commitment.”
Viola sighed. “As long as you promise not to devote an entire column to listing the types of whales. Moby Dick and I were forced to part ways when I encountered that mind-numbing chapter.”
I said, “Do not call me Ishmael.”
Viola devised a small challenge and asked each of us to write down our favorite book. The goal was to match the book to the person. She collected the slips of paper, shuffled them, and read aloud, “Far from the Madding Crowd, The Count of Monte Cristo, Emma, and Don Quixote.”
With a sly smile, Viola said, “I think I should put Jacob to the test. How well does he know us?” Sarah and George agreed, and all three leaned forward on the table.
“Easy,” I said. “Perhaps I should give you a moment to create a more difficult test.” I sounded confident, but I was buying time.
“What shall be his prize if he is correct?” asked Sarah. My thoughts whirred, pulling up details of the books from memory.
“Oh, yes, there must be a prize,” George said. “How about a round of truth or dare for the loser?”
I weighed the evidence. Aspects of Viola were in both books, but which would she prefer?
I started with the obvious. “The Count of Monte Cristo is me. Don Quixote is George.” He nodded in agreement.
“Far from the Madding Crowd is…” I glanced between the two women, paused for an unnecessary breath, and went with my gut, “Viola and Emma is Sarah.”
Viola clapped her hands. “A perfect score. You know us well.”
George said, “It’s a bit of a giveaway as Sarah swears in Jane Austen.”
Sarah pretended to scowl at George. “I prefer refined exclamations my mother cannot object to.” She asked, “Which will you choose, Viola, truth or dare?”
“Hmm.” She tapped a finger on the table. “Truth. I choose truth.”
“Let’s play another round of whist, and then I’ll ask your question and expect a truthful answer.
” Around and around, we played our cards as I struggled to find the perfect question.
How did she feel about me? Why swear off love?
Should I give up? What just happened by the piano? What did she want from me?
Viola laid her last card, folded her hands, and turned to me. “I am ready. Ask away.”
I opened my mouth, closed it again, and then asked, “What do you want for your future?”
George and Sarah groaned and leaned back in their chairs as one.
Viola straightened. “What a coincidence. I just so happen to have a personal plan, a motto of sorts, which answers this question exactly.”
Sarah shook her head. “Her manifesto.”
Viola cleared her throat and spoke as if from memory.
“I, Viola VanMartin, will avoid the trials of love and marriage. I will turn my energy instead to industrious activities, charitable works, and the bonds of friendship. I will be master of my destiny in my own country home, where I will live as a proud spinster with two adorable cats.”
George and Sarah joined her at the end, so that all three said, “with two adorable cats,” in unison and laughed.
This was her dream for the future? Nowhere for my arms wrapped around her. Nowhere for me.
I’d known her kiss would break me—just didn’t realize the breaking would happen immediately.
I said nothing.
Viola raised her brows at me.
But what could I say?
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “You have two cats?”
“Not yet.”
“But she has names picked out,” Sarah said. The conversation continued around me as my last moments with Viola flew by. I tried to hold each one.
Eventually, the party came to an end. George walked Sarah next door, and Viola and her father saw the rest of the guests off from the front step. Victor ordered his carriage around to deliver Mrs. Newman to her home, even though it was only at the end of the street.
I offered to escort her, but she waved me off, saying there was no need. Before leaving, she gave Viola a tight squeeze and patted her cheek, saying, “Try not to get into too much trouble,” and then she winked at me.
But we were long past too much trouble.
And I had no map to judge what came next.