Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  “I could sneak in some ice cream.”

  She smiled but shook her head. “Now if I had one of Mother’s donuts…”

  “I’ll get you my favorite apple fritter. There’s a bakery near here that has great ones. I’ll be right back.”

  Chad hurried to procure the contraband, and the moment he stepped outside the hospital building, he dialed his mother. “Mom? Help.”

  For the next block, he explained what had happened, how it would affect Willow, and asked what he should do. Her words surprised him. “It’ll be alright, son. You’ll help her through this. It’s what you do best. It’s why you became an officer—you like to help people.”

  “Her food though—all that work. How can she possibly pick bushels of fruit, process it, store it, and whatever else she has planned for fall? That hay—she needs it.” He sighed. “She lives for this stuff and she can’t do it now, but what’s worse, she has to just to survive.”

  “So go buy one of those harvester things that Zeke used to use on Libby’s back yard and cut it down for her.”

  “I have a life, Mom!”

  The line went silent. He knew what she was doing. She’d wait until she knew he was listening—there it was. “Son, do you have a life? What do you do? You work. That is your life. Once you’re off work, you sleep and avoid that dismal apartment of yours. You rented one of the most charming places in Fairbury, and it looks like someone just moved out. You don’t spend much time with friends, because your only friends are other cops who work when you don’t and vice versa.”

  “Mom!”

  “Listen Chaddie my laddie—” Chad’s groan interrupted her, but she continued. “You don’t even visit us, but ever since that Finley woman died, you’ve come alive. You know I’d never be thankful that someone has to go through that kind of loss, but I am thankful that if it had to happen, you were there.”

  “Don’t make this a big romance, Mom; she’s got a big-shot financial guru interested.”

  He heard the smile in her voice—that one that said she thought she knew what he wanted better than he did. “Oh, but we both know she’d wither and wilt away to nothing in the city, and a city man like that isn’t going to want to live where there is manure, backbreaking labor, and a good fishing hole.”

  Chad heard more between her words than his mother spoke. She thought he cared for her. She thought he wanted a girl, and Willow sounded perfect simply because she lived a life that he had loved as a boy. Mothers never seemed to understand that their sons grow up with new dreams very different from their childhood ideals. He waited, almost impatiently, for the words he knew she was dying to say. As usual, his mother did not disappoint.

  “Mr. Big Shot doesn’t have a chance, Chaddie.”

  “Oh, Mom. That’s where I hope you’re wrong.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The sun beat down on him, but Chad pushed the mower through the hay and ignored the fatigue that attacked his muscles. The field was half mowed. Another three or four hours and he’d be done if he could keep up the pace.

  He mowed, raked, carted, stacked, and packed down the hay. Then, out of some masochistic need to torture himself, he repeated the process until the entire field was finished. Chad checked his phone again but there were no missed calls. It was nearly five o’clock. How much later could they release her?

  At the sound of an approaching vehicle, he stepped from the barn, wiping his forehead with his forearm. Bill’s car. He must have decided to drive her home without calling. Chad wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed. Ever since the accident, Bill had become quite proprietary regarding Willow and her affairs.

  Chad rushed to open the door for her, but Bill intercepted him. “She can’t bathe easily yet, and you’re covered with—” Bill raked his eyes over Chad, searching for the word that eluded him. “Weeds—”

  “It’s alfalfa, Bill, and it’s fine. Chad’s probably exhausted though. That scythe is awful.”

  “I bought a sickle bar mower. I did the whole thing in just a few hours.”

  “Wow! Really? Mother was fast, but it usually took her the better part of a week to do it all.”

  As Willow spoke, Bill lifted her from the car and started for the door. “Can you get her stuff, Tesdall?” When Chad stepped into the house, carrying a plastic bag emblazoned with the hospital’s logo, Bill said, “Sorry. That was rude of me.”

  Chad waved him off and excused himself. The work would have to be done for the day. He took the stairs several at a time, and rifled through his duffel bag in Willow’s room before hurrying to the shower. No sooner had he pulled on clean jeans did he hear Bill’s voice calling him with an urgency that sounded imperative.

  “Chad! Can you help us down here?”

  Thinking there was some emergency, Chad threw his shirt over one shoulder and took the stairs three at a time. Seeing her half-standing, staring at him as if he was crazy, he pulled on his t-shirt. “What are we doing?”

  “We need to get her upstairs. This thing is too uncomfortable,” Bill pointed to the chaise, “and that thing is too short.”

  The couch didn’t look too short to him, but what did he know? “We could bring her bed down here—”

  “Either help me up those stairs, or get out of my way.”

  Willow’s voice left no room for questions. She’d have her way or they’d die from her trying. Bill picked her up once more and asked Chad to follow. “I just don’t want to fall down the stairs with her.”

  Once in her own bed, Willow glanced around the room smiling. “Home is wonderful, isn’t it? No beeping machines, no nurses to wrangle with, and no physical therapists.”

  “You need that physical therapy, Willow. Dr.—”

  Impatiently, Willow waved him away from her. “Go home, Bill. Thank you for bringing me home, but I think you need a good night’s sleep. You’ve been grouchy ever since Alexa and Libby left. Chad’s here, and his Aunt Libby said she’d come stay.” Willow squeezed Bill’s hand before making shooing motions at him.

  “I guess I know when I’m not wanted,” Bill joked, although to Chad he sounded half-serious. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday. Call me Monday afternoon. I need to recuperate from all this attention.” Her appreciative smile seemed designed to soothe the dismissive tone from her words, but Chad wasn’t confident in its effectiveness. Bill paused at the door giving her one last glance and then shuffled down the steps and out into the yard. Chad stood at Willow’s window watching as Bill glanced around him shaking his head. He sank into his seat, slammed the car door, and pounded a fist on the steering wheel before he turned the key and backed down the long driveway.

  “He’s gone?” The relief in Willow’s voice would have stung even more had Bill been able to hear it.

  “You were a little hard on him.”

  Angry tears flooded her eyes, but she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “You didn’t have to listen to him patronize me the entire way home. It was insufferable.”

  “Insufferable huh?”

  “Decisively.”

  Amused but trying not to show it, Chad sought clarification. “What was so patronizing?”

  “After all the years we’ve known him, he seems to think that a little cut is going to make me abandon who I am. He actually suggested I get rid of Wilhelmina!”

  “I think he is just worried about you. Bill has probably never seen either one of you injured before. It’s not easy to think of anyone being alone and hurt—especially someone you care about.”

  He couldn’t argue that Bill had been a bit high-handed about her situation. From the irritation in Willow’s voice, the interference he’d sensed in the hospital, and even the slight rudeness Bill had displayed tonight, Chad could see that the man was stretched to the limit. His concern couldn’t just be that of a financial advisor for a good client. Bill Franklin’s affection for Willow went deeper than tax preparation and a decade of business lunches at the Finley farm.<
br />
  Willow’s contrite voice broke Chad’s reverie. “You’re right. I should call and apologize.”

  He brought Willow her purse. She started to dial, paused, and tried again. Chad laughed as a beep resonated from the phone and she left a message. “It’s not bad that I called him at home where he can’t answer right now, is it?”

  “I think under the circumstances, it’s smart. Now how about something to eat?”

  “And a glass of milk? That watered down blue milk they had in the hospital was awful!”

  They talked for hours about the upcoming work. Chad needed rest, but he knew that she’d sleep easier knowing there was a plan. They decided that she’d hire some of the teens from the church to pick the fruit if she couldn’t manage by the time it was ripe “I looked at your list of things to do—I think we can manage. Even without you at your top game, I think we can do it.”

  “I have more garden to plant. I got the broccoli, cabbage, and beans planted for the fall garden. I was going to add cauliflower for the market, but I didn’t get to it in time. Are you sure we can do this? We have to plant the rest of the stuff by the last week of August—”

  Chad nodded, trying to be as reassuring as he could. “We’ll do fine. I’m not sure how, but we’ll make it work somehow. By the time it gets really cold out there, you’ll be back to normal.”

  Her downcast expression unnerved him. Was there more to her injury than he’d been told. “What is it?”

  “I hope I’ll be back to normal. They made it sound like if I didn’t do all the physical therapy they wanted, I’d lose the use of my foot and if I did do it all, I might lose it anyway. I really messed up that nerve.”

  Her bravado slowly slipped away. She looked lost, confused, and uncertain as she described the exercises and expectations of the doctors. Chad listened and tried to make sense of her rambling thought process until he thought he had a reasonably accurate picture.

  “Willow, I’m not a doctor, so I can’t say anything definitively on the medical front. However, I do know that you’re strong. You are healthy. And, if there is anyone more determined than you are, I’ve never met her—or him. You’re going to be fine because you’re going to make it be fine.”

  It took a few minutes before he realized the pain in her eyes wasn’t just emotional. He pulled a sheaf of papers from the plastic hospital bag and read them carefully. “It’s past time for your pain medication. Do you want some more milk with it or should I get you some water?

  At nine forty-five, Chad stood in the doorway of Willow’s room and watched her sleep. Her phone lay next to her on the table, a glass of water there too, and his note was pinned under both. Her photo album, several of Kari’s journals, and her planning journal were stacked on the bed far enough away that he hoped she wouldn’t knock them to the floor.

  He glanced at his watch. He had to go. Should he light a candle? Flip on the breaker and turn the hall light on? The moon kept dipping behind clouds—what if she needed the bathroom and couldn’t see? Shaking his head, he grabbed his gun belt from Kari’s bed and crept down the stairs. Willow Finley could probably find the barn in her sleep and the risk of fire was ridiculous.

  The normal sounds of footsteps in the house, on the stairs, and doors opening and closing barely pierced her subconscious mind but the moment Chad’s truck door slammed shut, instantly Willow was wide awake. “Chad?”

  Now fully awake, she could sense her solitude. The sound of his truck starting and crunching the dirt as he drove away was now a familiar one. She’d learned, in recent months, to tell the difference between his truck, the cruiser, Jill’s truck, and Bill’s sedan.

  Moonlight streamed across the room for a brief moment before another cloud plunged the room back in darkness. Her leg throbbed. She’d seen a note on her table. How she’d read it without a candle or lamp she wasn’t sure.

  Cautiously, Willow felt her bedside table. Water glass, oil lamp, match-basket, cell phone, paper. Her hand sought the glass again and lifted it to remove the paper. Her cell phone went skittering across the slick hardwood floor under the bed. “Drat.”

  Staring at the paper, Willow tried to find a smidgeon of light but it was hopeless. She set the note on her bed and reached gingerly for the match-basket. The last thing she needed to do was spill a glass of water on it. Light flickered from the match and then glowed from the lamp. Yes. Light was a good thing. She grabbed the note once more.

  Willow,

  I hope I did right not to wake you. You seemed to need the rest. There is a glass of water on the table, a sandwich on a plate on that shelf under the table, and a sliced tomato with it. Don’t eat the sandwich after 2 am. I’ll stop by then on my break and make a fresh one if you didn’t eat it.

  I’ll be back around seven. I have to go home for a change of clothes. Aunt Libby can’t come. Her daughter’s kids all have the chicken pox. Ugh. I’ll talk to Mrs. Allen and see about finding people who can come. Maybe they can rotate or something. Regardless, I’ll stay until you can milk again at least.

  Please don’t try to go downstairs. I think a fall on that leg could really tear up those stitches. I’m praying for you.

  Chad

  Disappointment washed over her. She had looked forward to Libby coming to stay. Something about Chad’s aunt reminded her of her mother. The self-assurance, the humor—something was familiar, but Willow was drawn most to her gentleness. Kari, with all of her virtues, wasn’t a gentle woman. While far from harsh, she’d been injured by the world and it showed.

  If Chad just left, it must be near ten o’clock. Should she try to retrieve the phone, call Bill, and apologize? Chad seemed to think she’d been too hard on him. Willow remembered how angry her mother could seem when she was frightened for their safety. The hard tones of her voice echoed in Willow’s memory and a trace of the familiar followed. She’d sounded just like her mother.

  Nature called but never had it been so difficult to answer. Pulling her leg out of bed was difficult enough, but stepping on it, even briefly, sent stabs of pain through her entire body—not exactly the kind of thing she wanted to feel when her bladder fought her every step of the way.

  Willow wanted a shower. Badly. The thought of warm, clear water pounding away the knots formed in her miserable hospital bed tempted her. Knowing she hadn’t had a proper shower since working in the hay taunted her. Indecision became her nemesis. That she wanted the shower—desperately—there was no doubt. However, if it took longer than she expected… The idea of Chad arriving before she could get dressed almost stopped her. She stared at the floor, her dresser. Each second seemed like it brought the probability of mortification one step closer.

  She swung her leg over the edge of the bed, tears springing to her eyes as ripples of pain ripped through her. From her dresser, she grabbed fresh underwear and dug for the least revealing t-shirt and cutoffs. She limped, hopped, and finally crawled to the linen closet and retrieved a towel.

  Getting to the bath had been annoying—getting through it, comical. She couldn’t hold her leg outside the tub and didn’t trust herself to stand on only one leg. As much as she preferred showers, a bath was her only option. She dragged the bathroom stool to the tub and dragged it inside. After a bit of a fight, Willow managed to pull the spray nozzle from the hook above the tub. It hadn’t been removed since the day Mother installed it for all she knew.

  The water felt wonderful. The light swipes of wet cloths in the hospital did little to provide the refreshing feeling of a real shower—or bath. She tried to clean her other leg with a washcloth, but it felt ineffectual at best.

  As the water drained, Willow had an idea and seconds later her left foot soaked comfortably in three inches of water. She barely gave her lower leg a lick and a promise, but her foot and upper leg felt fine—wonderfully fine.

  Willow needed a second, or even a third towel. Finagling the procurement of said towel was more difficult than the realization of her need for it. She felt quite foolish with a tow
el wrapped around her head, one around her left leg, and one around the rest of her as she tried to hobble from bath to bedroom. Crawling left her sprawled on the floor—twice. She would have to “walk.”

  Every step sent excruciating stabs up and down her leg. The towel around her injured leg fell at the bathroom door. Her body towel caught on the door latch and hung there defiantly. At least my hair is reasonably modest. Mental note, Willow Anne Finley: No baths when people are present in the house.

  At two-fifteen, Chad rushed up the stairs, anxious for a pit stop himself but froze at the sight of a wet towel across the doorway of the bathroom. Light flickered in Willow’s room and a towel hung from the door latch. Nervously he inched his way into the room and hesitated once more at the sight of a third towel at the foot of the bed.

  Feeling somewhat like Noah’s sons, Chad grabbed the towel from the latch and half backed toward the bed tossing the towel in the general shape of the lump his peripheral vision showed. “Wha—” Willow stirred but drifted back to sleep. With one eye, Chad peeked at the towel and sighed, relieved. She was dressed.

  I have to find someone to come out here, he muttered to himself as he gingerly removed the towel, turned off the lamp, and retreated from the room.

  At dawn, Willow awoke feeling fully refreshed. Her hair was a wild mat of twisted tendrils and her clothes were rumpled, but aside from the continual throbbing in her calf, she felt wonderful. She slipped from the bed and hobbled from the room and to the bathroom. At the door, she paused. Where was the towel? She glanced back at her doorway. No towel there. A snore from her mother’s room told Willow where they’d gone.

  Oh Lord, thank you for the strength to finish dressing! Ugh!

  By the time she returned to her bed, Willow was exhausted—her feelings of refreshment gone. Never had she imagined that answering the call of nature could be so physically draining. The next time nature called, she planned to have an answering machine like Bill’s.