The swing hung from sturdy ropes tied to a branch and strung through a well-sanded board. An old garden hose protected the tree from the cutting motion of the ropes as the swing flew higher with each pump of little legs. The child’s braids flopped backward and then forward again as she swayed with the rhythmic motion.
“Look at the cloud, Mother! It looks like a face! See the eyes and the straight line? The face is angry!”
The woman shielded her eyes with her hand as she tried to see her daughter’s cloud face. “Look next to it on the right. That looks like a penguin.”
“What makes clouds, Mother?” The little girl jumped from the swing and rolled onto her back in the grass. Dandelions grew freely there. The wind wouldn’t blow them into the front yard from this side of the barn so they’d chosen to hang the swing from a tree surrounded by a field of dandelions.
The woman explained the difference between liquid water and water vapor and described evaporation and precipitation. She pointed out the shapes of the clouds, and in the space of a half an hour, the child had a solid, if basic, understanding of cloud formation and the water cycle. This was how the child always learned—each lesson flowing naturally from a life lived deliberately.
“Mother, how do you know so much? You always know everything!”
Blowing a dandelion in her daughter’s face, the woman chuckled. “I don’t know half as much as I want to, but what I do know, I learned at school and then from reading after I finished school.”
“Why don’t I go to school then? How will I learn anything like you?”
Seven years old and already, the child questioned. How long would it take before “because I said so” didn’t satisfy? “Well, I already went and learned so I could teach you. If you went to school, who would help me with the work? Who would I talk to?”
“Oh, that would be terrible. I thought you would come with me.”
“Did Ma Ingalls go to school with Mary and Laura?”
The little girl sat up sharply. “No—and their ma taught them for a long time. Why did she send them to school? She was a teacher, wasn’t she?”
After a false start, eloquently begun with, “Uh,” the mother smiled. “Well, she had little Carrie and baby Grace to tend to, so she probably thought they’d enjoy learning where it was quiet and diapers didn’t need changing.”
“But that’s sad. It’s not quiet here, and I learn lots of stuff.”
Unsure how to respond, the woman tickled the child’s nose with a fresh dandelion and whispered, “I guess they just didn’t think of it.”
Her feet flew higher and higher into the air before Willow flung herself from the swing, just as she had so many years ago. The puppy tumbled over its own feet, rushing to greet her, licking her chin and scratching her lightly with its sharp claws and pouncing on her. She giggled and handed it a knotted piece of denim—an old pant leg—to tug on as she lay back in the grass.
Her mother’s death and the journals she now read voraciously seemed to spark repeated trips into the memories of her past. Mother taught her so much, and yet she felt as if she knew so little. Would she be prepared to teach her child some day? Would there ever be a child for her?
Lifelong daydreams of little boys—her little boys—hovered in her imagination again. Living on the farm, raising pigs, sheep, or possibly dogs, she saw two tow-headed tykes helping with the work and saying amusing things to make her smile. How had she never imagined the father required to acquire those boys? Was Santa Claus going to bring them? Did storks really drop them in waiting bassinettes? Her shoulders slumped. No sons for her—it couldn’t happen. Adoption though… Willow stood, brushing grass and dandelion down from her clothes and children from her thoughts. She had work to do.
In the barn, she grabbed a tool belt and strapped it to her waist. The pup bounced around her heels, but she knew the tiny animal couldn’t keep up with her, and she refused to carry tools, wire, and a wriggling dog too. Willow shut the unhappy dog in the barn, slung her coil of wire over one shoulder, and called to Othello.
They walked the fence line from the corner of her yard, down the driveway, and along the highway. Cars whizzed past, a few staring as they watched her. In cut-offs, sleeveless blouse, and huge straw hat, she must have looked odd and wondered if she should have worn something else. Strange how it had never occurred to her how she looked before—strange indeed. Willow dragged a burlap bag along behind her, filling it with the litter she found stuck in the fencing and in the ditch that ran between her fence line and the highway.
Even working at a steady pace, the task was tedious, especially with the sun beating down on her. It took most of the day to walk the fence, repair it, and return to the house. Wilhelmina greeted her with sounds of protest at the yapping of the puppy in the barn. The thermometer told her that it was still too hot to move the chickens in for the night, so she pulled the netting over the small section of chicken yard and knotted it securely.
Inside, the clock taunted her with the reality that she had only half an hour to shower, change, make something for dinner, and leave if she intended to make it to the Bible study. She stood, deliberating for a moment, and then took the stairs three at a time. This was her life, and as her mother taught her well, she intended to live it to its fullest.
Willow listened to the banter of the ladies study group, entranced by the novelty of it. Women were fascinating in large groups. They talked about several subjects at once, finished each other’s sentences, and often left a sentence mid-thought and raced to another one. She’d never seen anything like the rabbit trails that started at defining agape and ended in whether or not Abigail was dishonoring when she called her husband a fool.
Darla Varney stood after the closing prayer, explaining that the chief hadn’t been home for dinner before she left, and she knew he was probably tired, hungry, and therefore cranky. As she gathered her things, she caught Willow’s eye and asked, “Was there something you wanted to say or—”
“Well, I just wondered when we were going to study the Bible. I have to go home soon.”
“Well, Bible study is over now so…”
Willow’s shocked face silenced the police chief’s wife. “But we didn’t even open our Bibles. I thought this meeting was to study the Bible.”
A few hands fumbled with Bible covers, other hands groped tote bags or purses to check if they even had one with them, and Shannon surreptitiously reached behind her and pulled hers from the shelf. Lee Wu stepped forward. “Come on. Let’s go to The Daily Grind for dessert and coffee. I think you’re going to be good for me.”
Willow followed, feeling somewhat confused, and asked, “What just happened in there?”
Lee led her to a car as she spoke. “We got a much needed two by four across our heads. Hop in.”
She paused, her heart yearning for the fellowship of another woman, entranced by the novelty of one near her age, but her well-ordered sense of responsibility protested. She shook her head. “Sorry, it’s already much later than I intended to leave. I’d love to go with you, but I need to get home.”
“How are you getting there?”
“I’ll walk. I need to change my shoes, though.”
Lee tugged her sleeve. “Come on. Have dessert with me, and I’ll drop you off later.”
“I’m five miles east, but thanks.”
The car door squeaked as Lee opened it. “Oh that’s not far at all. I’d love to.”
Willow, stuffing down her ingrained reticence to riding in cars with relative strangers, slid into the seat and shut the door. The moment the key turned, she screamed. Hands flailing, she fought what seemed like an attack of killer seatbelts.
Seconds later, she lay sprawled on the sidewalk, one foot hooked around the seatbelt, and her arms and chin skinned and bleeding. The sound of shocked and concerned onlookers sent her eyes in the direction of Shannon’s porch. Willow groaned and gave Lee a sheepish look.
“It attacked me!”
“I’m
sorry—” Lee couldn’t finish. All attempts to stifle her chuckles failed. Hurrying to Willow’s aid, Lee shouted for a clean wet washcloth and a few Band-Aids.
“No bandages. I’ll be fine, but I would appreciate the cloth. This sidewalk is dirty.”
The scrapes stung as Willow dabbed at them on the small trek to the coffee shop. Each touch of cloth to face produced another wince, a gasp, a groan. Lee apologized at regular intervals until Willow begged her to stop. “It’s just a scrape. You know how they sting at first. I won’t notice it in the morning.”
Lee led her into the coffee shop, ordering Willow an iced tea and chocolate chip chocolate cake. Between bites, they laughed and knitted the first rows of friendship. Willow described life on the farm, her hobbies and responsibilities; Lee shared about small-town life and apartment living. As she explained what she did as a stylist as Fairbury’s most exclusive—in other words, only—hair salon, Willow shifted. Eyes wide, Lee stopped mid-sentence. “Um, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your top is ripped in an—um—inconvenient place.”
Willow glanced down and saw one side of her chest fully exposed. Against the grass green print of her shirt, Willow’s bra was more than a little obvious. She grabbed at it, forcing the pieces to meet and blushed miserably. “I—”
“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. I’m so sorry.” Lee passed a napkin. “Maybe…”
The door jangled as someone entered, and both women jumped when Chad Tesdall’s voice called out in surprise, “Willow! It is you! I saw you as I passed and—”All attempts at nonchalance failed as she griped her shirt and refused to meet anyone’s eyes. Seemingly oblivious, he continued. “—got to take paperwork into Brunswick, want a ride home?”
Willow implored Lee with her eyes, begging desperately for an out. She knew that she’d never be able to get in a vehicle, strap on a seatbelt, and then get out again without exposing herself. “I—”
“You can’t have her all the time. Some of us want to get to know her too, so butt out, Officer Tesdall.”
Chad backed away, grinning. “No offense, no offense! Just trying to help here. Have fun. I’m gone.”
Gratitude poured from Willow. “Oh, thank you. I could never have gotten home and in the house without—” she shuddered unable to continue.
“I don’t blame you. Chad’s a good egg, but if he keeps monopolizing you, no one will ever get to know you.”
“Monopolizing?”
With an exaggerated shake of her head, Lee wagged a finger and said, “He’s always with you. He hovers like a freaky controlling boyfriend who’ll kill anyone who dares glance at his chick.”
Willow’s laughter echoed around the coffee shop, sending several curious glances her way. “Oh wouldn’t he find that funny.”
“Why?”
“Because Chad would love, more than anything, for someone else to take me on as their ‘project’ and leave him free to do his own thing.”
Lee sounded doubtful as she said, “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I know so. We’ve talked about it some—not enough, though. He still hovers; I think he’s afraid I’ll die of grief or something—as if that’s any of his business.”
Lee stood and carried their cups and plates to the counter. As they pushed in their chairs to leave, she remarked, “Well if he said that, it must have been when you first met him. Chad Tesdall only does what he truly wants to do, even if he’s too stupid to realize it’s what he truly wants.”
Chapter Fourteen
Chad drove toward Brunswick lost in thought. The sight of Willow in the company of someone else, having fun, and clearly not wanting to ride home with him both relieved and concerned him. Had he offended her? Was she aware of his resistance to the obligation he still felt regarding her?
He slid his phone screen to Luke’s number, punched it, turned it on speaker, and slapped it in the holder on the dashboard. “Hey, Luke. I need advice.”
“About Willow?”
Unsure how to respond when he’d obviously been too transparent already, Chad mumbled something about “that girl needing more friends and less dependence on him for help and support.” Even as he spoke, Chad knew he didn’t sound very convincing.
Luke’s gentle voice responded with the last thing Chad expected to hear. “Chad, when you’re ready to be honest with both of us, call me back. Until then, take it up with the Lord.”
The phone clicked. Chad growled and punched the off button, nearly knocking the phone onto the floor. “Who does he think he is anyway? I ask for help and get a ‘deal with it yourself.’ What kind of Chris—”
Shame welled up in Chad’s heart. He’d called Luke to complain about someone needing help and his desire to tell her to “deal with it yourself and leave me out of your life.” He knew the right thing to do, but he only wanted it to be sin if someone else didn’t do it.
Sighing deeply, he punched the redial button and prepared for a healthy feast of fried crow. “Hey Luke.”
“You beat your record. I’ll take a slice of that crow pie from you and feed it to the pups.”
“I was angling for fried but ok. Pie it is and you can have it.”
After a few chuckles, Luke’s characteristic silence hovered between them. Impatiently, he waited for whatever nugget of suppressed wisdom Luke would eventually share and thanked the Lord for night minutes and long drives to Brunswick. At least this counseling session was free. The last one had sent him over his monthly minute plan and cost him an extra twenty dollars.
“You’re protective of her.”
“Not because I want to be!” he protested vehemently.
“That’s not what I said. I didn’t say you wanted to protect her but that you do. Well, if Sunday was any indication. What sparked this call tonight?”
Chad described seeing Willow in town and the realization that it would be dark before she made it home. He told of the meeting in the coffee shop and of how Lee had shooed him away. “So I left.”
“And called me complaining that she needed more friends?” Luke added with audibly repressed amusement. “Chad, she was making a new friend, didn’t ask you for anything, and apparently has managed to survive for twenty years or so without you holding her hand through them. I think you’re still deceiving yourself.”
After a couple of stammering false starts, Chad blurted, “But that’s just the point! It was so nice to be able to drive away knowing I didn’t have to worry about her walking along that highway in the dark. I need more of that and less of her in my life.”
“Has she decided that she needs you, or did you decide that?”
Chad blustered, trying to backpedal without being too obvious about it and succeeded in making himself look and feel like a fool. “She doesn’t know what she needs, Luke! She walked home from the bus station.”
“No way!”
A quick reply was the last thing Chad had expected. He was accustomed to having time to prepare a rebuttal to Luke’s insightful comments. “What?” The question was a ploy for time.
“You heard me.”
“Luke, maybe you didn’t understand her situation. Willow lives five—”
“I understand. I understand that for twenty some odd—”
“Twenty-two” Chad interrupted irritably.
“Twenty-two years,” Luke continued, “Willow has managed to walk back and forth to town without your help or permission. She’s managed to run a farm, keep a house, and—”
“With the help of her mother who happens to be dead at the moment—”
“I assume she plans to stay dead, Chad. So what does that have to do with anything?”
Speaking slowly and carefully as though talking to a child, Chad tried again. “But Willow had help all those years. Actually, she probably didn’t help much herself until about five or ten years ago.”
“You seriously underestimate the abilities of children. Aggie’s kids have stripped wallpaper, cleared the entire property of weeds and scrub br
ush, painted trim, sanded woodwork, scraped tile, and I can’t remember what else. Willow has been a significant help for a very long time.”
“Well—”
Luke interrupted again. “And before Willow did any of it, her mother did it all alone; I suspect at right about Willow’s age now...”
The statement hovered over the conversation like a thundercloud. If Chad responded at all, it would explode. Taking a deep breath, Chad let the cloud burst.
“That’s just the problem, Luke. She—Kari—Willow’s mom—was so alone. Terrified. She gave birth in a thunderstorm, all alone in that house, too scared to leave it, terrified to stay. They froze when she didn’t get enough wood chopped; she ate canned food until I got sick of it just reading about it.”
“And you don’t want that for Willow.”
Chad sighed in relief. Finally, Luke understood. “No. I don’t.”
Unaware that he’d opened himself up for the kill, Chad waited for Luke to tell him it was ok to be worried but that he didn’t need to invest himself in this friendship. The Lord would take care of Willow without using his hands to do it. A deceptive peace stole over him as he waited for the words that would return his life to normal.
“My question to you then is, ‘Why do you think you have a right to decide what you want for her if you don’t want to invest in her?’”
“I really appreciate the ride home. I can’t imagine walking all that way like this. Would you like to come in?”
Lee’s laughter brought a faint bark from Othello out at the gravesite and a series of yaps and whimpers from the puppy in the barn. “If I hadn’t insisted on giving you a ride, you wouldn’t have ripped it.”
Willow called to Othello assuring him all was well and let the pup scamper from the barn. “It’s almost dark, so I’m going to put up the chickens and let the pup run around before I go in and change. Feel free to go on in if you prefer.”
“Can I watch? I’ve never seen chickens up close.”
Past Forward Volume 1 Page 13