Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  “Mother hated chasing chickens when I was little, so she created this for nighttime closing. I like shooing them in.”

  Chad moseyed into the barn with her words ringing in his ear. “…I like shooing them in.”

  Grinning, he murmured, “She likes shooing them in. She’s not going to get the same satisfaction corralling kids into dressing rooms.”

  He watched as she climbed the back steps. Each step seemed to weaken her just a little. The temptation to carry her into the house and dump her on the couch with orders not to budge hit him hard—again. It seemed as if it happened every time she tried to do something.

  When he opened the screen door, Chad found her pulling containers from the bags he had left there. “Do you like enchiladas?”

  Willow’s eyes met Chad’s over the bag of food. “I don’t—yes.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve never had them but they smell too good not to love it.”

  “You’ve never had enchiladas?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve had sushi!”

  He shooed her into the living room and brought her a plate and a glass of milk. “Just sit and eat so I can enjoy my meal guilt-free.”

  “What?”

  Chad shook his head and took a bite. “Man, Rosita’s makes the best enchiladas ever.”

  “They are delicious. I might have to learn to make these tortillas. Mother often talked about learning how, but she never did.”

  While they ate, Chad marked down his current work schedule on a notepad. Working around his need for sleep, and what she thought she could do, they sketched out a plan to ensure that they harvested and processed all the fruit and the produce from the fall garden. It would be tight, and they might need help if they got behind, but by the time Chad rose to carry their plates to the sink, they both felt confident that their plan would work.

  Chad’s phone rang. Seconds later, he grinned. “Just in time. Lee Wu is coming in a while. She has tomorrow off at the salon so she’ll stay tonight and tomorrow night.”

  “We can start on peaches then!”

  Chad glanced at his watch. “I’ve got an hour before dark. I’ll go get what I can. I have to be at work by ten tomorrow morning but I can pick quite a few before then. Lee can pick too.”

  A huge grin lit up her face. “This is going to work, isn’t it?”

  “It’s going to work just perfectly.”

  Willow struggled out of the couch and waved him off. “Go pick peaches. I’ll change my sheets.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, Lee would probably prefer sleeping on fresh sheets.”

  He didn’t like the sound of where this would lead. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  “The couch.”

  Chad whipped out his phone. “I’ll tell her to bring an air mattress, and she can have the other bed. I’ll sleep down here.”

  “Perfectly,” she agreed. “This is going to work just perfectly.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Lee ground her teeth as she peeled peaches and fought to keep her mouth shut. Bill Franklin, good-looking man that he was, was driving her to a different kind of distraction. He’d been “making an argument” eloquent enough for the toughest courtroom in the nation. It was brilliant. Fascinating even. However, Willow was obviously torn—ready to crack under the pressure.

  Three times, she’d picked up her phone to call Chad, and three times, she’d snapped it shut. It wasn’t any of her business. The minor fact that it wasn’t any of Bill’s business didn’t change anything. She had to do the right thing.

  Raised voices, however, were more than Lee could stomach. She hated conflict. It took twenty minutes to bring herself to do it, but eventually she strolled into the living room with a pitcher of water and Willow’s only two glasses on a tray. “A glass of cool water anyone?”

  “Thanks.” Bill’s face and voice were strained. Maybe he wasn’t the creep he seemed.

  “We were discussing a business proposition I’ve been given,” Willow said as she took the glass from her.

  “Oh really? What is it?”

  “That store you suggested in Rockland? Boho? They want me to design children’s pieces and run a sister store.”

  Lee was floored. It was any woman’s dream job, but she had little doubt that Willow would wither in the city. “I think you were born for design. That dress you wore to the faire was out of this world.”

  Willow’s head snapped up surprised. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Lee took a deep breath and smiled at Bill. “Do you worry about her in the city?”

  “What do you mean?” His confusion was more than evident.

  “Well, she’s so active here. Outdoors, in the fresh air and sunshine… Do you think she’d be happy in a store all day?”

  Lee saw Bill’s answer in his eyes even before he said, “I think she’d have a lot of opportunities that she doesn’t have here. There are gyms and walking trails at City Park.”

  “So what you suggest is that she moves from here to create an artificial here in the city? Why?”

  Willow jumped into the conversation. “So Lee, why don’t you like the city option?”

  Lee shrugged. “I’d love it if I had that opportunity. But then, I love the city.”

  “So why did you open a shop in Fairbury?

  “I’m hoping to open a salon there someday, but I wanted to get my feet under me on a smaller scale first.”

  “But—” Bill and Willow spoke simultaneously.

  “But Willow doesn’t love the city like I do. Have you seen this incredible life she has here? Why should she all of it up for just one thing that she enjoys—something she could do from here?”

  Bill stood, his hands in his pockets. “She needs physical therapy. She can get the best in Rockland.”

  Lee’s eyes narrowed. “So she should overhaul her entire life for this job and a temporary need?”

  A first-class thorough argument ensued. Willow watched fascinated by the exchange. The words flew faster than her mind could process them until Willow finally stood and crawled up the stairs to her room. So thoroughly were Lee and Bill engrossed in their verbal sparring, they didn’t notice for several minutes that she’d disappeared.

  Lee’s eyes widened. “Oh no. I—”

  “Excuse me.”

  Lee, expecting Bill to leave in a huff, was surprised to see him hurry up the stairs. “He’s got it bad,” she muttered to herself. “He’ll push her away if he keeps this up.”

  Bill knocked on Willow’s door from the doorway. “May I come in?”

  “Are you done arranging my life?”

  “Sorry. I let my personal feelings—”

  Willow’s eyes blazed. “And just what are those?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked as he stepped into the room.

  “Well, you know, everyone but me seems to know what you’re talking about.”

  Bill sat next to her on the edge of her bed and played with her fingers. “You know, I never expected to—I mean, I’m over ten years older than you but—”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  He misunderstood the question and launched into a long and rambling attempt to explain his growing attraction and the deeper feelings he’d recently developed for her. His heart sank as she shook her head and waved her hands at him. She didn’t want to hear it.

  “That’s not what I meant. I don’t understand why ten years or twelve or whatever it is should matter.”

  “Well, it is somewhat unusual.”

  “It didn’t used to be,” she retorted absently.

  “So you aren’t bothered by—” he fumbled again. Why was it so difficult to talk to her? He’d never had trouble communicating with other women who had interested him.

  “Well, to be honest, it’s a little weird.”

  He steeled himself for rejection. “I understand. I hoped you’d consider—”

  “Well it’s just that I had that silly crush on you, a
nd now you’re saying all the things I dreamed of eight years ago.”

  He grinned. “Care to accept a delayed declaration of my undying affection?”

  “Ok, that’s just nauseating,” she laughed.

  “I agree.” He waited for her to meet his gaze. “This opportunity—it is exactly—” he mentally cursed his jumbled thoughts and incomprehensible words. “—but I was wrong. I was excited for me and what it could mean for me—us. I still am. I won’t pretend that I want you to stay here on this farm and continue the life you led with your mother.”

  “I don’t see why—”

  “I could never live out here. I know some people commute to Fairbury, but I’m a city guy. I hate it out here. I hate the sounds of the bugs and not knowing what is slithering through the grass.” The corners of his lips drooped, and his eyes lowered. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I hate that there are no streetlights. It’s dark out here. You don’t even have electricity!”

  “Well we have it but—”

  He nodded resignedly. “That’s my point exactly. You choose to turn it off. I could never imagine life without all the conveniences mine has to offer. You walk to town for fun. I use a treadmill.”

  “And you’d never consider living anywhere but in Rockland?”

  A wretched look crossed his face. “I want to say that I’d give up anything for you if we were... I feel it but—” He shook his head. “But it isn’t true. I won’t leave the city. My life is there just as yours is here.” Bill’s eyes dropped. “I thought…”

  She nodded, understanding. “You thought that maybe my life was still up for definition?”

  “Yeah.”

  With a shrug that meant little to either of them, Willow sighed. “Maybe it is. I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of it before Monday, and now you’re out here telling me that it’s possible this offer could be even better—someday.”

  “You haven’t decided against it?” he questioned surprised.

  “Mother would be ashamed of me if I turned down any opportunity without giving it serious consideration.” She shifted her leg, wincing. “Not to mention, I happen to know Mother thought well of you. She hated the idea of male-female relationships, but she knew a good man when she met one.”

  A quiet calm stole over the room. Bill marveled that she hadn’t kicked him out after essentially telling her that he might be interested, but not enough to make personal sacrifices for her. Of course, it was a little early to think like that anyway, but Bill was, if anything, an honest man—honest with himself more than anyone. He tried once more to imagine himself living there—no. He couldn’t do it.

  A slight sniff penetrated the silence. Bill brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. “What—”

  “I miss her. She was so strong—so wise. I—I just miss her.”

  Willow’s shoulders jerked as she tried to choke back emotion that he suspected she stuffed down daily. He could see her determination not to lose control. Despite his innate discomfort with grief, Bill wrapped his arms around her and ordered her to let it go.

  “Cry Willow. We’re meant to cry. I’ve even cried for her. Of all people, you have the right to hurt, to weep, and to be a little angry with your loss.”

  Her tear-flooded eyes sought his. “You’ve cried for Mother?”

  “She was a friend. We didn’t spend much time together, mostly professional, but Kari had a way of entwining herself in your heart if she let you into her life.”

  “I want her back. Mother was my best friend. She was—well, she was my mother! I want my mother.”

  “I want my mother.” Lee crept back down the stairs as those words drifted out Willow’s doorway and into the hall. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She’d climbed the stairs to make sure Willow didn’t need a buffer, but those heart-wrenching words sent her scurrying back downstairs and out the back door.

  Chad met her there with sandwiches in hand. “I stopped at the deli, but I didn’t know he—” Chad jerked a thumb at Bill’s sedan, “would be here. I’ll leave these and go get me something else to eat.”

  “We already ate. It’s after two.”

  “Oh right. Then I’ll eat one. What’s he doing here?”

  Lee glanced sharply at Chad’s face. Either the nonchalance was expertly applied to his features or Chad was making small talk. “Well, right now anyway, I think he’s up there consoling a grieving girl.”

  Chad turned, ready to go to Willow’s aid, but Lee stopped him. “Bill has it.” At the indecision on his face, she added, “Chad, he’s got it covered. This time.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  August- 2000

  It’s been an amazing year. We’re canning apples now. The peaches are done, the pears are almost ready, and we have an amazing number of sunflower seeds. We’re going to can pumpkin in September and roast the seeds. Those were so good last year.

  Willow’s sixteenth birthday was wonderful. We had a picnic. I gave her a new rod. So original.

  The other day, we discussed the New Deal and the War on Poverty when she ran across an article criticizing the welfare state. She was so confused. The idea of being taxed in order to give to those who have less offended her. I tried to make her think—to teach her compassion for the less fortunate, but she couldn’t get past the “Robin Hood” aspect of stealing from those who earned it to give to those who didn’t. No matter how much I tried to make her understand that people come before ideology, her brain was stuck on “principle.” I thought perhaps I had created a libertarian. Now I’m not sure that she’s not more extreme—perhaps an anarcho-capitalist.

  How do I teach her to see that without the money from Steve’s father, we would have been dependent on the very government programs that she objects to? I tried pointing out that by her definition, we would have nothing, would live in the woods, scrounging for whatever we could find, but then I realized that she can’t see what is wrong with that. This is such a big flaw in our life. I don’t know how to make her understand.

  Her next question was how much we gave to those who need financial help so that those people wouldn’t go to the government for it. How does she think of these things?

  Oh my. Willow just plopped herself on my bed and announced that the American government is stupid. She pointed out that the pilgrims tried a redistribution of wealth in their original colony and that even their zeal for the Lord and a charter founded on charitable principles didn’t produce utopia.

  She’s now in her room composing a letter to the president. She had to ask me who the current president is. Have I made a horrible mistake? Is it right that a sixteen-year-old girl should be so ignorant of the world around her?

  Yes, I have missed something in her training. We can be philosophical and ideological in our mindset here. We have that luxury. She can’t translate that to real life away from here—to a life where without the aid of the government, her child might go hungry, they might freeze in winter, or life-saving medical procedures are withheld because there is no money to pay for them. She just came in with A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and showed me the place where Katie tells her sisters that she’ll close all the windows and open all the gas jets before she will go to the Catholic charities for help. She pointed to that and said, “That—that is exactly what I think of all this.” I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t amused. My Willow has a romantic streak that reminds me of Anne Shirley.

  We discussed marriage recently. I tried so hard to hide my revulsion. I tried. I don’t think I succeeded. She is convinced that we’ll live here as two old spinsters and she’ll adopt a child to help us in our old age. I think she’s read Anne of Green Gables a little too often. She assures me that you don’t have a friend pick up an orphan for you anymore. Apparently, you now have to prove you will treat the child right and can afford to keep the child fed and clothed. Who would have imagined!

  She’s still pestering me for a greenhouse. She’s convinced that there must be some way to build one. Willow and building. Th
at is frightening at best. If she still wants one in five or six years, maybe I’ll order one of those kits.

  I’ve been thinking about her future. I keep doing the fingerprints, and I have her chronology, the story of her birth, everything she could need; it’s all in the barn behind the wall of the cabinet over the fridge. I didn’t tell her about it. I wanted it separate from the house in case of fire. If anything happens to me, she’ll find it when she reads this.

  I wonder what would happen to her if something happened to me. She’d be able to survive. She’s a self-sufficient young woman. As long as she didn’t need to build anything, she’d be fine. But I wonder about her spirit. I thrive on the solitude. I had no idea, before this happened, just how wonderful it is to “be still” before the Lord. Daily walks with nothing but my life, my daughter, and my Lord. What more could I ask for?

  But Willow isn’t me. She’s her own person. If I died, could she survive without human contact? Would she starve emotionally? Can a person get the affection that they need from a dog or, in her case, probably a sheep!

  I remember when I started. I thought I’d be so bored. I thought we’d plant one day, fish one day, bake another day, and then can a day or two and voila. What to do with all the “extra” time? Extra time. I want more time. I have so much to live and learn before I die. I am nearing the halfway mark of my life. What do I have to show for it?

  Well, I have Willow. Though it’s a warped way of putting it, she is definitely something to “show for it.” This house—I did manage to create a truly warm home. I love our home. Of course, Willow did most of it. She thinks I teach her everything, but when it comes to the creative side of life, she’s the one with the artistic bent. I just copy her. She thinks she copies me. Oh how strange we are.

  I’m doing it again. I’m feeling like I’m a failure at life because I don’t have a job, a career, I haven’t worked to increase wealth. I produce nothing that benefits anyone else. Why do the world’s values still have an impact on my self-perception? I’m a success at everything the Lord wants me to succeed in. That should be enough.