58. Jacob
Jacob
Istrode into the Harmony Lake Inn with a satchel slung over my shoulder and a spring in my step.
Today. I was getting on a train today. Nothing could bring down my spirits.
In under an hour, I would leave Harmony Lake with two weeks of adventure stretched out before me.
It was so close I could taste it. After much deliberation, I’d decided on a route across to Northern California before the weather turned, and there would be a risk of snow in the mountains.
There was one last thing to attend to before leaving town.
I glanced down at the note I’d received only yesterday from the solicitor representing the new owner of the Lund farm.
He’d requested a meeting at the Inn at two-thirty today to finalize the boundary between our farm and the former Lund property.
Probably just some paperwork. I looked up from the note—and my breath caught.
Viola stood in the entryway, smiling with her dimple on full display, even more stunning than the image I’d carried in my mind for months. Had she been watching for me?
My heart flew across the room, and I stumbled forward in its wake.
I nearly swept her into an embrace, stopping myself only at the last second.
We were in full view of half the town. I hesitated, grinning like a fool, trying to decide what greeting was appropriate.
Pulling her into my arms and kissing her senseless was not an option. Or was it? No—not here, not now.
She thrust out her hand.
I took it automatically. “Viola!”
Was she here for me?
“Hello, Jacob.” She withdrew her hand and smoothed her skirt. “It is so good to see you again. My father is upstairs and will be down presently. George sends his regards.” Her eyes flicked to the note in my hand. The meeting could wait. Viola was here.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “A last-minute meeting, but I can cancel. Nothing urgent. You are here.” I laughed, still trying to understand how she’d materialized in front of me. “Why are you here? Not that I am complaining.”
“Surprise!” She motioned toward the private dining room off the main entryway.
I followed her inside, expecting—hoping—that her surprise was something meant for me.
Something to discuss in private. Maybe to celebrate in private.
My feet barely touched the floor. But we weren’t alone.
Inside, a man with a bushy mustache sat at a table near the window.
Viola’s maid, Greta, waited in the corner.
Viola took the seat next to the man and gestured for me to sit across from them.
“Mr. Jacob Jensen,” she said, her voice too bright, “allow me to introduce Mr. Muntz, my solicitor.”
She had a solicitor? A prickle between my shoulders made me shift in my chair.
Why did Viola need a solicitor in Harmony Lake?
And what did this have to do with her surprise?
Pressure squeezed around my ribs. I searched her face for answers.
Her smile was fixed firmly in place, and her eyes were too wide.
They showed too much white. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. She stared somewhere near my left ear.
“Viola?”
“Thank you for coming.” Her voice trembled, just enough to twist something in my chest. She nodded to her solicitor.
Mr. Muntz slid a document toward me. “The purpose of this deed is to define the boundary line between the Jensen farm and the VanMartin farm, such that the small parcel of land previously disputed with the former landowner, Mr. Lund, will officially become part of the Jensen property. If you agree, your signature is required below that of the new landowner.”
I must have misheard. Ringing filled my ears. Sounded like he had said the VanMartin farm. But that made no sense.
I scanned the page without absorbing a word until I reached the bottom and saw her signature—Viola VanMartin, the new owner.
The room tilted. The air thickened. Light from the windows flared too bright, turning everyone into silhouettes—faceless, distant. Mr. Muntz extended a pen toward me. A bead of ink trembled at the nib, threatening to fall. My stomach lurched.
This was her surprise? Why didn’t she tell me about this like a normal person? Why bring a solicitor? Why hide it from me? The questions grew to a thunderhead.
I needed air. Needed out before the storm of words inside me broke.
I pushed back from the table, knocking over my chair.
Stumbled out of the room, across the entryway, outside, and down to the street.
I dropped onto the lowest step, head between my knees, inhaling dust, satchel still pulled tight over my shoulder, heart pounding like it wanted out.
The door banged open. Viola’s cool hand touched the back of my neck, an intimate gesture that brought no comfort.
“Jacob, are you well? You turned three shades of green. Shall I send for Doctor Nelson?”
I swallowed hard, waited for the world to steady, then sat upright.
She settled beside me, her hand now on my shoulder.
In a fog, the pieces finally clicked together. “You… you bought Lund’s farm?”
“Surprise,” she said weakly and clasped her hands in her lap until her knuckles showed white.
“I don’t understand.”
“I thought… I hoped… you’d be pleased. A good surprise.”
“Surprise?” I came to my feet, unable to stay still as my thoughts spun. “Oh. I’m surprised all right.” She was not here for me. Her surprise was not about us.
She watched me as I paced before the steps, and so did everyone else on the street. I was such a naive fool. She decided to buy the farm next door without discussing a single thing with me.
Heat flared in my chest, and not the good kind. Sharp. “You show up like?—”
“Jacob, let me explain?—”
“You tell me like this?”
“I didn’t?—”
“With a solicitor?” My voice rose, and heads turned, but I didn’t care. Anger was easier than the ache clawing at my insides.
“I thought?—”
“What were you thinking?” I snapped. “What does a twenty-year-old socialite want with a farm? Did you get bored with city life and decide to buy one on a whim?”
“It is not a whim,” she said. “I want this.” She waved her hand in a frantic arc around her. “I’ve planned it for months. I’ve been?—”
I staggered to a stop. She’d been planning it even when I was in Chicago. Even when she came to my room. Planning it without me for months, without a word. I shoved my hands into my hair. “Mercy, Viola. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something that night when you?—”
Her chin trembled. “I wasn’t sure… I wanted…”
Wasn’t sure she wanted me.
And what about what I want? “I considered buying that land,” I said. “Working that land.”
Viola stood to face me. “I can do it.”
“It’s a farm,” I shot back. “And you aren’t a?—”
“I can learn. I need a purpose.”
“You’re a woman whose purpose is to cause me trouble.” Why had I let myself hope… I stalked back and forth. But her letter. She’d misled me somehow.
Her hands balled into fists. “Are you mad because I am a woman and should not be allowed to own a farm?”
“No,” I said, but the word came out wrong.
She glared at me. This was not my fault.
Dust kicked up from my pacing, surrounding us like an angry little storm.
“And what’s this boundary nonsense?” I demanded.
“Charity? Alms to the poor farm boy? Is that what you think of me? I don’t want your pity.
” The gulf between our lives yawned wide and merciless.
“No!” she said. “I thought you would be glad to have me for a neighbor. I thought we—” She clamped her jaw shut, swallowing her words.
I lowered my voice, aware of the audience gathering. “This isn’t Chicago. You can’t simply buy everything you want. Well, you can buy a farm, but you can’t buy me. I’m not for sale.”
Tears welled in her eyes as I spoke, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
She lifted her chin, and there was a tightness around her mouth I’d never seen before.
“I do not want you, Jacob Jensen.”
Her words hit like a bolt of lightning.
I couldn’t breathe.
“I thought you were my friend,” she said, voice catching, “but I was wrong.”
Her words left me scraped raw. But somehow I kept speaking. Kept pushing. “Friend?” I said, quietly. “You don’t know anything. You do not know one thing about being a friend.” The moment the words left my mouth, I wished I could drag them back. Too late.
“Don’t worry,” she said coldly. “I will keep my ignorance to myself. There will be no confusion about what is between?—”
“You’re the one who’s confused. The one who swore off love and marriage.”
Viola stared straight into my eyes. “And I say good riddance.” She spun, stomped up the steps, and retreated into the Inn.
A distant train whistle sounded, announcing the train that would carry me away.
I stared at the Inn’s door for a long moment. It didn’t open, and I didn’t climb back up the steps.
She didn’t want me.
Not the way I?—
On leaden feet, I made my way to the depot as neighbors and friends returned to their business, pretending they hadn’t heard the words that had shattered my heart.