68. Viola
Viola
Ibreathed in the familiar, reassuring scent of Mrs. Jensen’s freshly baked bread. The numbness around me prickled as feeling returned to me in the cozy kitchen. I eased onto the bench between Jo and Jacob for dinner.
At the head of the table, Mr. Jensen bowed his head and said grace.
“And, Lord, please let all those bright and shiny new angels flyin’ around up there with you know that they are missed, and if they’re not too busy with your good works, ask ’em to look down on us poor mortals once in a while. Amen.”
I nodded, though the word Amen stuck somewhere behind my ribs.
Across the table, George’s gaze softened on me as he echoed, “Amen.”
Jacob’s shoulder brushed against mine, grounding me.
George drew in a noisy breath. “Smells wonderful, Mrs. Jensen. Thank you again for having us and for inviting Viola to stay.”
Mrs. Jensen’s smile warmed me more than the kitchen. “Viola will always have a place here.”
The conversation spun easily around the table without requiring anything from me. So different from the dinners where George and Father had tried to draw me out when all I wanted was to retreat into my grief.
Jacob’s thigh pressed against mine beneath the table. His warm strength flowed into me and forced some of the emptiness aside. I leaned into his presence and let it comfort me.
Jo bent close. “Glad you are here. We’ve all missed you.” She tilted her head pointedly at Jacob and dropped her voice to a whisper. “He came home from his trip looking like he’d wandered straight out of Dante’s Inferno. Like he had abandoned all hope, but then he read your note.”
She squeezed my arm. “I don’t know what you wrote, but he has been whistling again.”
My lips twitched into a smile, though the motion felt foreign.
George beamed at me, relief written plainly across his face. I should thank him for bringing me here.
After dinner, George shrugged on his coat and headed back to the Inn. He paused at the door and shared quiet words with Jacob and Mrs. Jensen while they glanced at me. After he left, we all settled into the front room.
I curled into the end of the couch, legs drawn up under a quilt.
Jo announced she would start a new book in honor of my stay and started reading without revealing the title.
When Farmer Oak smiled, the corners of his mouth spread till they were within an unimportant distance of his ears…
I immediately recognized the familiar words, and my gaze flew to Jacob, who appeared pleased with his cleverness.
I tilted toward him. “My favorite book?”
“Don’t you remember mine?” he murmured back.
My sluggish brain worked to find the needed memory. “The Count of Monte Cristo,” I said.
Jacob’s smile widened—Farmer Oak himself would have envied it. He stretched one arm along the back of the couch toward me.
I wondered why the couch was so long. It was the length of a church pew.
I threw my elbow over the back so my body faced Jacob and rested my head on my arm.
I took in his familiar features, so much better than staring at the lake.
Then he held my gaze with his half-lidded eyes as we listened to Far from the Madding Crowd.
Jo read with her usual skill, and I became lost in the story. At some point, my eyes drifted shut, and the story blurred into darkness.
I woke to his gentle caress on my arm.
“Viola. Vee.” His voice was a warm thread pulling me back. “Wake up. We need to get you to your room.” Jacob squatted beside the couch, his face near enough that his breath slid across my cheek.
His parents murmured and moved about in their bedroom down the hall, and the girls’ footsteps creaked the floorboards upstairs. Except for us, the front room was empty. But I didn’t want to retreat to my room. Didn’t want to leave him. I pushed myself upright and patted the cushion next to me.
Jacob slipped into the space beside me, close enough that the absurd length of the couch no longer mattered. The fire burned low and provided minimal light, but we had been together in the dark before.
He covered my hand with his. He didn’t grasp or clutch at me, didn’t demand anything, but gently spread his hand protectively over mine.
I let myself relax against his sturdy shoulder. The house quieted around us as I rotated my wrist, ever so slowly until our hands were palm to palm and our fingers interlaced.
His words floated softly in the dark though his voice was rough at the edges. “I have so many regrets. How I acted. What I said. How I left. Can you ever forgive me?”
“One of the last things…” I said, my voice catching. I swallowed and started again. “One of the last things Mrs. Newman said was ‘No regrets.’ What do you think she meant?”
Jacob was silent for so long that I thought he wouldn’t answer.
He lifted our joined hands and brushed his lips across my knuckles.
The numbness I had been feeling for weeks was gone.
His soft kiss left a trail of stinging and burning across my hand.
The feel of his lips and his hot breath on my skin tugged at memories, like pulling on a string, weaving and twisting the past and present together in a game of cat’s cradle.
Finally, he said, “Everything we do or don’t do, every choice we make, is a step forward that cannot be undone.” He rubbed his bristly chin across my fingers and continued staring into the fire as if the answers were hidden among the ashes. “No regrets means making mistakes.”
I said, “I can do that.”
“Making mistakes and learning from them. Not being paralyzed by a bad decision. Or even worse, never making a choice in the first place.”
I said, “But I like a plan. I need a plan.”
His eyes glowed golden in the scant light from the fire. “Yes.” He chuckled. “I know you do. Planning is a choice. If your plan goes off the rails, what do you do? Make another plan, a better plan.”
But what was my plan now?
“No regrets,” I said.
“No regrets,” Jacob agreed.
The final log on the fire shifted and broke into embers, some of which scattered out onto the hearth. Jacob stood to sweep them back into the fireplace, the faint glow catching in his hair. When he returned, he rested his arm along the couch behind me, and I propped my head on his shoulder.
“Glad I got to meet her,” he said. “I’m sorry it was only the once.”
“Me, too. She was so full of love that it poured out of her. I was lucky it poured onto me. I loved her. I don’t know if I ever told her so, but I hope she knew.”
Jacob squeezed my shoulders. “I am sure she understood.”
I said, “She never regretted love, even though it brought her terrible pain.” My thoughts struggled to connect sensibly as I sat cozy and safe with Jacob’s arm around my shoulder.
“I thought I could control the pain. Avoid it. But somehow… I chose love instead.” I shook my head. “Wish I knew how to mourn her.”
The scattered coals faded from red to black as the wind moaned outside and rattled the flue. I floated weightless, disconnected.
“You’ll find your way.” Jacob pulled me back with his words. “It is coming along. Your house… still getting my head around that.”
“Me too.” I would have fallen asleep, but Jacob shook me gently.
“Come on. Let me help you upstairs.” He pulled me to my feet, placed his arm at my waist, and supported me as we ascended. In the darkness of the hall outside my door, he said, “You’re here now with us. With me. We’ll figure it out. Together.” He kissed the top of my head.
A candle burned low at my bedside. I snuffed it out, crawled under the snug covers, and turned toward the wall—toward where I knew Jacob would spend the night and fell instantly asleep.