Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  “Thank you.” Willow’s voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

  “For what?”

  “Burying Othello. I couldn’t have done it. Not right away and then—”

  Chad stood and pulled her to her feet next to him. “No one would have left you to do that alone.”

  “You did. You did it alone. Why is it ok for you and not for me?”

  As they walked to the house, Chad listened as Willow questioned life, death, and the inconsistencies of both. He stopped at his truck and opened the door. “Willow, part of what you’re experiencing is culture shock. You and your mother had your own culture. Her death plunged you into another culture. They’re closely related, but whereas you and your mother valued grit and independence, we like to serve others—especially when they are hurting.”

  Chad drove away feeling like a hypocrite. If he valued service as he claimed to, he wouldn’t be fighting his service for her. Lord, thank you for Bill Franklin. If things keep going the way they are, I may be off the hook before long.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Darkness still hovered over the countryside when she awoke that July 4th. Willow crawled from beneath her covers, leaving it unmade, and grabbed her clothes. Fishing poles stood waiting by the back door. She grabbed them and stepped out onto the back porch. The faintest trace of green hovered near the horizon, the blue-black of night mixing with dawn’s gold. Perfect fishing weather.

  Before dawn broke, sending golden rays of sunshine through the trees, she had settled herself under her favorite tree, fishing pole in hand, and prayers of thanksgiving for a free country on her lips. Sorrow crept around her heart, as yet another reminder of her loss broke through her defenses. Mother would not take turns reading aloud today. She would not hum patriotic songs while churning ice cream or making raspberry-mint lemonade.

  The lazy sway of her fishing line in the water mocked her. Not a tug in sight. Fish for breakfast, an Independence Day tradition, if she could just—the first fish flew through the air as she jerked it from the water. Fish for breakfast. Period.

  It was too early to go back, so she flung the line back into the pond and waited, her mind grateful for another distraction. Four fish. Two for this morning, two for the weekend—a semblance of normalcy even without her mother eating half the catch. “More fish for me,” she choked in a whisper.

  Four fish signaled her time to leave. Reluctantly, she removed the fly from her line, packed up her gear, and strolled home. The pup yapped in the barn as she set the ice chest in the summer kitchen. With a pan of water heating on the stove, she slid open the barn door and let Frieda—that name wouldn’t work either—out. “Mornin’, girl.”

  She fed the animals, milked Willie, and returned to the kitchen, eager to begin fileting her fish. Bones eradicated, she dredged the fish in cornmeal and fried them. The pup yapped at the door, whining and scratching for a taste, but Willow refused. “Sorry Dizzy Daisy, I’m not risking it. I’ve lost one puppy to fish bones—not doing it again. I’ve already found one that I missed.”

  As she rinsed her plate in the sink, a sudden craving for pie attacked her. “We need cherry pie.” Drying her hands, she grabbed a bowl and carried it outside, smiling at the dog tumbling over its feet. “Want to come with me to pick some cherries, Thoreau?” She winced. “Sorry, girl. That one is out too. We’ll find you a name eventually. It’s time now that Othello—” Willow swallowed hard. “It’s time.”

  “Come on, girl—Tenacity. Hmm not bad. We’ll read to Mother and eat cherries in her honor.” She glanced at the pup and sighed. That name wouldn’t work either. “Emma? You look like you could be an Emma.” The pup yapped as though affronted.

  Blanket under her arm, she carried a basket in one hand and a tote bag full of books in the other. Around the barn and across the field, she led the pup to what she now thought of as “Mother’s oak.” She spread the old quilt out over the wild grass that grew around the tree and settled herself against the trunk. Books tumbled out of the bag as she dug for her favorites.

  “Ok, no Emma. Well, you’re no Beauty, but you’re nice enough.” She pulled out a thin, worn paperback, a compilation of the Declaration of Independence, Bill of Rights, and Constitution of the United States, and flipped open to the Declaration of Independence. She read aloud; they always did. The pup’s head cocked from side to side as if it tried to understand what Willow said, but she didn’t pause.

  Chad’s cruiser pulled into the drive and he jumped out. He hopped the fence, striding across the grass to where she sat, but though she waved, Willow continued reading aloud without a moment’s hesitation to interrupt the cadence of the words she spoke. “‘… for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.’”

  “That line gets me every time.”

  Willow looked up at Chad grinning. “It was Mother’s favorite. She said that this is how we live, ‘with a reliance on the protection of divine Providence.’ Want a cherry?” She held the bowl up for him.

  Popping one in his mouth, Chad sank to the blanket, flipping through the stack of books lying there. “The Federalist Papers, the Anti-Federalist papers—what are those?”

  “Mother and I would have been Anti-Federalists. Technically we still are, but the country went federalist.”

  “I didn’t know there was such a thing as anti-federalists.”

  She pushed the book across the blanket at him. “Take it. You’ll love it.”

  From his expression, Willow suspected that he didn’t have the heart to tell her it was probably the last book he’d ever choose to read. He swallowed hard and choked out, “Thanks.” He picked up another. “George Washington’s Rules of Civility. He had rules?”

  “Good ones,” she insisted, nodding.

  As he picked up a book of historical verse, he shook his head. “You read poetry too?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” The amused look on Chad’s face was answer enough. She pulled the book from his hand, flipped to Francis Miles Finch’s poem about Nathan Hale, and read.

  “‘To drum-beat and heart-beat,

  A soldier marches by:

  There is color in his cheek

  There is courage in his eye,

  Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat

  In a moment he must die…’”

  The words hung in the air as the last line sizzled on her tongue. She made them sound like the beat of drums as she half-read, half-quoted the poem. Chad seemed nearly speechless. “Wow.”

  “Francis Miles Finch. He made Nathan Hale come alive for me as a child,” she said simply.

  “Are you going to read all of these?” As he spoke, Chad started to spit his cherry stone across the field and stopped himself.

  “Not the Federalist and Anti-federalists. I was just planning on reading my favorite spots.” She snatched a cherry from the bowl. “Bet I can spit a stone farther than you.”

  “Not hardly.”

  She crossed her arms across her chest. “Prove it.”

  Three stones and three losses later, Chad got a call. “I have to go. Another drunk and disorderly to go to Brunswick. Have a good day. Thanks for the book.”

  Twenty yards away he turned, “Hey, what are you doing Saturday night?”

  “Recuperating from cherry canning, what else?”

  “Can you recuperate in a truck bed?”

  Willow shook her head fervently. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need a special bed.”

  He jogged back laughing. “For a moment, I thought you were serious.”

  “I can’t get away with it forever, but…” She grinned. “So why your truck bed?”

  “Saturday night they’re shooting off fireworks over the lake. I might take my truck down to the docks and thought maybe you’d like to come.” Even as he said it, he knew it sounded like a date, but Chad didn’t know how to avoid it. Willow would love it. Lots of people went to
the lake, and the more people she became acquainted with, the better for him.

  “What time would I have to be there?”

  That question gave Chad hope. She didn’t expect him to come get her, so maybe she didn’t assume any other marked attention to her. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. You’re not walking that night. Too many drunks.”

  Twenty jars of cherries glistened in the early evening sun. Willow stood at the sink scrubbing her hands with soap, salt, and lemon juice when Chad sauntered through the door to pick her up. “Hey, you’ve been busy.”

  Willow scrubbed harder and faster, rubbing her reddish-brown stained hands. Chad ran a tentative hand over the hot glass jars and watched as she poured more salt and scrubbed the tips of her fingers with a brush. It made little difference.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get rid of the stains or at least fade them a little faster.”

  Chad didn’t understand. “How do you usually get rid of it?”

  “Wait. It fades in a few days or a week.”

  “So why put yourself through such rough treatment if it’ll fade?”

  Another splash of lemon followed the salt and she rubbed a little harder. “I— Well, I guess it was a bit of vanity on my part.” She held out her fingers distastefully. “I’ve always hated the way they get stained from berries and cherries. I’m being silly, and now I’ve made us late. I’m sorry.”

  Chad paused amazed at the first sign of insecurity he’d seen in Willow. “You know, if you prefer, we can get a place away from everyone else.”

  “I—well I guess it doesn’t matter if my hands don’t bother you, why should they bother me?” Willow wiped her arm across her forehead and sighed.

  Chad turned off the water and pushed her toward the door. “Go take a shower. I’ll get the pup inside.”

  “Josie has taken to playing by the chicken yard.”

  “You named her Josie?”

  Willow laughed as she climbed the steps to the back porch. “Josie, Clementine, Shep, Darcy, Arwen, Domino… I’ve been trying them all.”

  “And the forerunner is Josie?”

  “There is no forerunner,” she laughed, opening the door. As it shut behind her, Chad heard her continue, “Perhaps you can find something that’ll fit her.”

  He heard the shower as he found the pup and teased her into the barn. By the time he had her settled and had returned to the house, Willow stood in the kitchen, brushing out her hair. “Ok, I’m ready.”

  Quite a few cars zipped along the highway to Fairbury, Chad following with occasional comments about wishing he had his cruiser. “People behave when they remember someone’s watching.”

  “I said that to Mother once.”

  “What?”

  Willow glanced out her window in a move that Chad suspected was designed to hide tears. “I told her that I always behaved when she was watching, but it was harder to remember when she wasn’t.”

  “Just like a kid.”

  “Mother said,” a slight break in her voice, hinted that his suspicions were correct. “‘Willow, your Father is always watching. That is much more important than if your mother is.’”

  Father. He’d felt sorry for her—growing up without a father, but in Willow’s mind, she had one. Desperate to change the subject, he blurted out the first random thought that came to mind. “My mom used to sing that song, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” but she made it about Jesus. I was in third grade before I understood why they allowed a Jesus song in school when they didn’t allow prayer.”

  He pulled off the highway, taking the back route to the lake. As they neared, the conversation turned to that week’s produce sale, her canning progress, and the trouble they were having getting her Social Security application processed. Once they were through parking, few spots along the shore of the lake remained. “Looks like we made it just in time.”

  Willow removed her shoes while Chad arranged comfortable seats in the back of the truck. As he finished, he pulled a can of Coke from an ice chest and passed it to her. She stared at the can until Chad opened it and handed it back. “Haven’t you ever had a can of Coke?”

  “I had a bottle of Dr. Pepper once. Mother brought it home for me, but I didn’t like it. It was much too sweet.”

  Her sip was tentative but a smile followed. “This is sweet but not like the other one.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “For a change, it’s ok,” she said, taking another small sip. “Water is better, of course.”

  Chad pulled a Frisbee from behind the seat and held it up. “Want to play?”

  Willow grinned. “Definitely!”

  For half an hour, the disk sailed through the air, back and forth, until the wind caught it and sent it over the heads of their beach neighbors into the nearby woods. Willow dashed after it, her new dress swirling around her knees as she turned. Chad watched her go, shaking his head and taking a swig of a fresh Coke.

  “Hey, Chad. Who’ve you got with you?” Tait Stedtmann slapped his back and grinned.

  “Tait! Why aren’t you with the singles?”

  “I was. I thought I saw your truck, so I came over to talk you into joining us. Joe’s working, but Martinez is there until nine.”

  “I have Willow with me. I don’t think she’d be comfortable—” Chad began.

  Tait laughed. “No one blames you from keeping a girl like that to yourself.”

  Fire entered Chad’s eyes. “What do you mean, ‘a girl like that?’”

  “Whoa! No foul! I just meant that it’s understandable that you’d want to keep a gorgeous girl like her to yourself. I thought she was pleasant looking enough at church, but man, I saw her before she ran off. Wow.”

  Tait waved and disappeared into the crowd. Chad turned and caught sight of Willow running back to the truck. A very familiar and yet still unfamiliar thought ran through his mind as she arrived, smiling. “Wow,” he hadn’t realized that he said it until Willow’s eyes met his in surprise. “I didn’t tell you how nice you look.”

  “It’s the dress. I bought it in Rockland last Saturday. It came yesterday.” She spun showing off the unique creation, and in doing so, Chad saw the side of Willow few had ever seen. She could be stunning when given half a chance.

  “Hey, Tesdall. Good to see you, man. Who’s the girl? She’s hot!”

  Willow watched, fascinated, as Chad’s eyes widened in horror before he turned slowly. “Chuck Majors, what brings you here?” From the amused expression in Willow’s eyes, he knew she suspected something was about to happen. She would be right. He prayed it didn’t end badly.

  “Tait said you were over here, so I thought I’d come say hi. Glad I did.”

  Now ignoring Chad, Chuck moseyed over to Willow and gave her the once over with a look that was just two stops short of a leer. “I’m Chuck, and am I glad to meet you!”

  “Are you?” The bored indifference in Willow’s tone caused Chad to choke on his Coke. She was good. Willow was very good.

  “How could I avoid it? Has Chad marked territory yet?”

  Confusion flooded Willow’s face for a moment until she saw Chad hugging himself and swaying behind Chuck. “Um well—” She glanced again. Chad was now blowing kisses at her. Her brow wrinkled. “I really don’t think—” Chad flung one hand to his forehead and the other to his heart making exaggerated pounding motions.

  Understanding dawned. Her eyes narrowed. “I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “Well I wouldn’t want to muscle in on Chad…”

  “That’s just because he’d flatten you. If you could get away with it, you’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  Both men howled. Chad, because Willow had pegged the lout from Brunswick perfectly. He suspected Chuck found it hilarious because he thought it was a great joke—and nothing more. Willow shook her head and slipped past Chuck to Chad’s side. “I’m glad I am so amusing.”

  Without an invitation, Chuck opened Chad’
s ice chest and pulled out a Coke. “No D.P.? Man, you gotta get with the program.”

  “No manners? I’d say you do,” Willow muttered under her breath for Chad’s ears alone.

  Chad choked on his Coke. Willow pulled the pie from her basket and set it on the tailgate. She’d made a fresh one just for that afternoon, and now she had to share it with Chuck. Chad’s sympathy deepened as she sighed and passed her plate to Chuck and the other to him.

  Chuck accepted the plate as if the pie was baked especially for him. Though he thanked her for the food and exclaimed over how delicious it was, the focus remained on him. Willow looked disgusted. Trying to soften the blow, he returned his plate to her uneaten. At her surprised expression, he smiled and whispered, “I’ll eat a piece when you’re done.”

  They shared dismayed looks as Chuck made it obvious that he did not intend to leave. Their Frisbee game became a game of keep-away. Willow threw low and Chuck nabbed it, sending Willow to the center. The game doubled in intensity. Chad discovered a competitive side to Willow he hadn’t expected as she slammed into his chest in her attempt to snag the disk.

  Chad snatched it easily and sent it back across the sand to Chuck. After a swig of water from a fresh bottle, Willow rejoined the game in earnest. Time and again, her fingers missed the disk by inches, but she seemed unruffled by it. Determination hardened her expression as she worked doggedly to succeed.

  She backed slowly toward Chuck, clearly sensing that he was the weaker player, until Chad knew if he didn’t let her have the next throw, she’d find herself too close to Chuck for comfort. Too late. The disk whirled toward her at a speed that required her to take a few steps back if she hoped to catch it. Just as her hand closed around it, she flattened herself unintentionally against Chuck.

  “Oh, excuse me. I’m sorry.”

  Chuck seemed befuddled. “No problem. You ok?”

  Chad listened, surprised. He’d never heard Chuck say anything in concern for another. Willow, unaware of such a momentous occasion, nodded and stepped away. “I’m fine. How about you?”