91. Jacob
Jacob
“So, you’re not engaged?” Jo asked. We pulled two chairs near the warm oven and stretched our feet toward its heat.
Ma stitched at the table while Pa bent over a book—probably the dictionary.
The soft rustle of a turned page marked time along with the muted tick of the mantel clock.
Erik and Beth were out in the barn finishing chores.
“That is correct,” I said, amused by her puzzled frown.
“And…” She tipped her head, studying me. “This is good?”
I leaned back, lacing my hands behind my head. “She wasn’t ready. So I didn’t ask… not yet. But her father approves.”
Snow fell quietly outside the kitchen window. Across the creek, the staff readied Viola’s house for her arrival. In three days, she would arrive along with Victor, George, and Sarah.
“But you love her?” Jo asked.
Warmth rose through me, steady and sure.
“Yes,” I said. The truth in that one word swelled to fill the room.
A single enormous flake of snow swirled past the window, slow as a held breath.
Had she expected me to deny it? I pictured Viola’s face glowing in the dim hallway, the first time I said the words aloud. Viola—her dimple, her kiss. Mercy.
I grinned at Jo. “And she loves me.”
Jo covered her mouth with both hands, but a tiny squeal escaped, no louder than the steady tick of the clock.
Pa reached over and gently drew Ma’s hand from her sewing, folding it into his own.
They shared a look but said nothing. Ma put down her work and leaned her head onto Pa’s shoulder. Pa winked at me.
My heart swelled. Soon, I would admit my love for her in front of the whole world. My column had always been written for her, but this one would be different. More.
The truest thing I’d ever written.
Exhilaration tangled with a ripple of fear. Would she like it?
Beth and Erik’s footsteps creaked on the front porch as they knocked fresh snow from their boots.
I said, “She’s invited us for a housewarming dinner on the night they arrive and again on Christmas Day.”
“Lovely,” Ma said. “We’ll finish the housewarming basket.”
Beth and Erik crossed to the oven. “At least an inch in the last hour,” Erik said.
“Should be enough for sledding tomorrow,” Beth added, cheeks rosy from the cold. I motioned for her to take my chair by the oven.
I returned to the table and picked up my pen.
Its familiar weight settled into my hand like an old friend.
Ma’s needle flashed, and Pa turned back to his book.
I bent over the blank page before me. Snow whispered against the window.
I breathed in the truth waiting on the far side of pain. And then I wrote from my heart.