The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) by L. B. Joramo

you, Vi. I appreciate that. I’ve worked on your family’s farm now for almost five years. You know I think upon you and Hannah like sisters, don’t you?”
    “And we think upon you as a brother.”
    Jonah nodded, looking down at our shared ale. “Your father was one brave man, freeing me the way he did. I always thought of your da . . . I never knew my own father.”
    “My father was very proud of you. I think my father thought of me as his first son and you his second.”
    He laughed and shoved at my shoulder with one of his own. But then his smile sobered. “As your brother, may I take license to speak freely to you then?”
    I squeezed his hard-worked hand with one of mine while smiling. “Of course.”
    He nodded again and cleared his throat. “What I’m about to say is something that I think should come to light.”
    “You think I should start farming wheat. I know. Last harvest wheat paid almost double what barley was. I just worry how wheat seems to not be hearty enough for the—”
    “It ain’t wheat I was wanting to talk to you about, Vi. It’s about men.”
    “Men? Oh Lord, not another lecture pertaining to . . . carnal intimacy. Mother just talked to Hannah and I a little more than a week ago about . . . that subject. I think because Hannah’s been so love struck with her beau. I understand vaguely what’s going to happen, but I—”
    “Woman,” Johan interrupted, his voice firmer than I’d ever heard. “Will you be quiet for just one minute? I’m trying to talk.”
    I bit my bottom lip and tucked my chin a few inches, which made him laugh.
    “I’m sorry to have yelled, but my heavens, when you do get started talking there’s sometimes no stopping you.”
    I nodded and snickered.
    “All right, now . . . what I mean by talking about men is a man’s heart. I’ve known Mr. Adams since your da paid for my papers, and moved to work and live in this here farm. Mr. Adams, he’s followed you around in all that time, like you had a piece of his soul that he was gracious enough to wait until you returned it. I had to respect the man for his tenacity.”
    I smiled, while Jonah eyed me. But then he said seven words which shook my whole world.
    He turned to me pointedly. “Mr. Beaumont is a good man too.”
    I blinked and tried to think of how I should react. I know I stiffened; my shoulders were almost touching my ears. But I forced a smile on my face and nodded as nonchalantly as possible.
    “I think he might be a good man, yes.”
    Jonah studied my eyes, then handed me the bottle. “You are a woman now. What are you, eighteen years of age?”
    “Two and twenty, actually.”
    “When did you get so old?”
    I laughed, punched him with one arm, and with the other I slugged a drink back. Oh goodness, but I was getting drunk.
    He smiled and nodded. “All the same, your mother might be giving some . . . kind of lectures, but I can tell you about a man’s heart. Mr. Adams, Mathew, he’s got a good heart, and he’s been in love with you probably since the day you were born. And you’re going to marry him?”
    “Yes, you know that.”
    Jonah nodded. “I do. I know that you should be careful of Mr. Beaumont. He’s in love with you too.”
    It was a thunderclap of information. I was too shocked to act or feel the reverberations echo in my body, but just shook my head.
    “Listen, missy, I know when a man is so in love with a woman he can hardly breathe. I know that because the first time I saw Bethany, my . . . fiancée, I nearly fainted. I’d never seen a woman so beautiful. Aw, you and Hannah are awful pretty, but I think of you two like—”
    “Like sisters, I know.” I laughed, but then defended Jacque as quickly as I could think. “But you’re wrong about Monsieur Beaumont. I’m no one of significance, especially to him. I’m a woman who wears breeches; I’m overeducated; I—I work with dirt; I’m always a mess; I look atrocious–”
    “Violet,” Jonah interrupted again,