She nodded. “I have applesauce and toast.”
“What are you doing up here?”
“Just looking. Do I really look that bad?”
“You look a little peaked, but once your stomach recovers and you can eat normally again, you’ll be fine. Put back on the pounds you lost.”
The confusion on her face was priceless. “You want to put me on a diet so that I can gain weight?”
“What diet?”
“The BRAT one that you had to get from your mom.”
He took her hand leading her downstairs laughing as he went. “No silly, it’s a ‘diet’ in that it’s a prescribed regimen of food. It’s what people eat for a day or two after they’ve had a stomach bug to make it easy on their stomach.” He handed her a glass of water and opened the front door. “Ride to town with me. It’ll be good for you.”
“As long as you don’t expect me to go in anywhere. I need a shower.”
Her stomach rumbled along with the wheels on her way to town. “I guess I’m hungry.”
“I’ll have a banana for you in no time. Do you like them still slightly green, very yellow, or a little overripe?”
She stared at him dumbstruck. “How am I supposed to know? I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had a banana. We didn’t grow them. As far as I know, they don’t grow very well here.”
He laughed. “Sarcasm. You’re back.” Her indignant snort prompted him to add, “Do you remember if they had green on them or spots?”
“I remember they existed. They were good. Sweet but not too sweet like some things.”
“I’ll get you a basic ripe banana. And rice. White or brown- never mind, I think I remember mom telling Cheri to do white back when we were in high school. Something about not as nutritious but easier on the stomach.”
Willow waited in the truck as Chad crossed the street, waving at nearly everyone and disappeared into the market. A memory flashed through her mind of the first time she remembered coming to town. Based upon her dress, Willow assumed she’d been around four or five years old. She saw the way her mother kept her hat pulled so that it hid most of her face and wondered what others had thought of the strange woman and child that came to town once or twice a year.
“Mother, why are the houses so close together?”
The ever-patient voice of her mother answered as she wove through the streets, avoiding the eyes of those who tried to be friendly. “Because some people like to live on top of each other.”
“But there’s no room for gardens or animals. How do they eat?”
“See that store?” Her mother paused and stooped down to the child’s level. “See where the lady in the purple shirt is going in? That’s a grocery store. People buy all the food they need in there.”
“That store isn’t big enough to grow enough food for all of these people! Our garden is almost as big as that store and where do they keep the animals? These cars would kill chickens.”
Familiar chuckles made the child feel secure and foolish at the same time. She knew what those chuckles meant. It meant that she’d said something silly and that her mother didn’t see how smart she really was for thinking of these things. The child thought her mother didn’t always appreciate her intelligence.
“Willow, the store only keeps enough food for a few days or a week or so. They have food brought from everywhere. By bringing it so often, they ensure that everything is fresh. People just go get what they need for a week or two and then come back.”
Willow’s next words surprised the mother. “How sad. I’m sorry for them.”
“Why sorry?”
“They don’t get to see things grow. They don’t get to know that the tomato they’re eating is the one they picked ‘specially for them. They have to take whatever someone else gives them.”
Mother laughed. “Want to know a secret?” she whispered in the child’s ear. “The food isn’t as good either. They have to pick it too soon so that it doesn’t spoil before they get it to the stores.”
“I will pray for them. Those poor, poor people. Someone should tell them—”
“They know, Willow. They know.”
“That’s just foolish.” The emphatic tone of the child’s voice amused a passer-by.
“They would say that working so hard for enough to eat and a way to stay warm and dry is foolish. Everyone makes their choices.”
“But some people make foolish ones,” Willow added with finality. “I’m glad God gave me to a Mother who makes smart choices for us.”
“Oh, Willow.”
Arms around her startled her. “Wha—”
“What’s wrong, Lass? Do you feel worse?”
She realized that tears were streaming down her face. “I was remembering a trip with Mother. I didn’t even know I was crying.”
“You should write those memories down. Our children will treasure them.” He reached for the box of Kleenex he kept in the glove compartment. “Here.”
“Did you get bananas and rice?”
Chad pulled out a box of fruit popsicles. “And popsicles. It’s almost as medicinal for a stomach bug as chicken soup is for a cold or the flu.”
Willow pulled the stick from the wrapper and bit off the end of it. “Oooh!”
Laughing Chad grabbed another Kleenex and handed it to her. “Spit it out if you need to. It’s cold.”
“I should have expected it, but I didn’t,” she said surprised.
“Nibble or suck on it. It’ll soothe your throat too. Let’s get you home and if you keep that down, I’ll give you a banana.”
“But this isn’t part of the BRAT thing. Popsicle wasn’t in there.” She looked at it warily. Another bout of vomiting was not what she had in mind for her afternoon.
“This counts as a liquid. Liquids don’t count for the BRAT so you’re ok.”
She glanced his way and sighed. “I think BRAT is a double entendre. I think it also stands for the state of mind of people who are too weak to protest but too hungry not to.”
Late that night, Chad noticed Willow’s journal on the coffee table and opened it hesitantly. She’d assured him that he was welcome to read them at any time, but it seemed like such an invasion of her privacy. Willow had given up so much of her life to make him a part of it that he felt like any more intrusion was almost criminal.
This time, however, he opened it. Curiosity triumphed over his unnecessary scruples and he sprawled out on the couch, munched on his sandwich, and flipped to the first page. The first words surprised him.
March—
It seems that nothing I do in this new life of mine is right. One moment I think I have the hang of things and the next I’ve unwittingly stomped on more toes. I have wondered at times if stepping away from Mother’s isolation was the best choice for me, but even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t go back now. Life without Marianne and Libby—without Cheri and Chuck, it’s a sad thought. Life without Chad? Inconceivable!
On the other hand, I do see that our life made us selfish. We did what we wanted, when we wanted, and with little regard for anyone but ourselves because our way of life encouraged it. If Mother wanted to take up weaving, she did it. She didn’t wonder if maybe the noise of the loom would hurt my head or if I thought the thing was ugly sitting in the living room night after night. I may have found it obnoxious, but we each respected the other’s ‘right’ to be obnoxious I guess. She, hated the idea of sheep, but I could have bought them at any time. We both knew that if I wanted them badly enough, I would have just done it, and Mother wouldn’t have said a word. It’s just how we did things. It worked for us but rarely did we have to die to self.
He skipped a few months and read from mid-April.
I decided what to give Chad for a wedding gift. Once he mentioned that he’d be giving me one, I realized that it was an opportunity for me to step out in faith. I’ll move his things into my room and pray for the strength and the courage to trust. I know I can trust Chad to treat me well, but I need the
faith to trust the Lord that what He created as good is truly good. Mother left no doubt in my mind that the things of marriage are horrible and to be avoided. Mother wasn’t a liar. How do I reconcile what she said with what God and the Tesdalls and my Chad say?
Chad swallowed hard. He hadn’t realized how torn she’d been. He reread it once more smiling in spite of himself. She’d called him “her” Chad. She was fond of him. He’d known it for some time, but seeing that unintentional possessiveness meant a lot to him. At times, he’d felt very alone. He’d finally accepted that she might never love him as he loved her, and though it hurt to acknowledge it, it had also strengthened his resolve to love her as unconditionally as he possibly could.
He slowly climbed the stairs, crept into their room, and ran the backs of his fingers across the top of her head as she slept. The second banana peel lay on the nightstand next to a pile of popsicle sticks. From the looks of it, she’d eaten every single one in the box. He sighed, kissed her cheek, and left whispering, “Love you, lass.”
Chapter 11 5
The trees swayed in the breeze as the morning crawled past. Willow leaned against her favorite tree, held her fishing pole, and wished Chad was with her. She had work to do but was so distracted that she’d given up after uprooting too many undersized plants instead of weeds. Instead, she had grabbed her tackle box, fishing pole, bucket, and lunch, and took off to her favorite fishing spot.
She glanced at her cellphone. Nine forty-five. Court was in session. Willow tried to remember how to send a text message but her unsettled mind made her fumble until she gave up in disgust. Lynne Solari faced the death penalty, and Chad’s testimony would likely be several nails in that coffin. She had always thought she believed in capital punishment, but the idea of putting someone to death and ending the chance for salvation was repugnant to her.
The look on Chad’s face when she’d said it still hovered in her memory. “Willow, she has had forty or fifty years of opportunities. It isn’t like we killed her before she had a chance to consider her actions. We don’t deserve a chance at salvation; we’re given one, and most of us throw it away.” His words made sense, she understood them, but her heart constricted at the idea that man killed to avenge murder, and in the process, stripped who knew how many years of opportunities to yield.
The fish weren’t biting—to her immense relief. Willow didn’t really want to catch any, but at least the possibility absolved some of the guilt of a wasted day. She slid open the phone and forced herself to concentrate on how to send a message. Finally, she sent two short sentences. PRAYING FOR YOU. MISS YOU.
The sun was too far on the side of the west before she realized she’d forgotten to eat. She munched on her sandwich and stared at the cellphone. He hadn’t called. Court recessed for lunch over two hours earlier, but he hadn’t returned her call. She tried again but no answer. The phone said it was after four in the afternoon. He should be home in an hour or two, unless they wanted him for tomorrow and at that point, he would get a hotel room.
She stood, put away her gear, gathered her things, and trudged back toward home. Illogically, every step seemed to go nowhere, but eventually she stashed her things in the barn and put a pan of water on the stove to boil. It was early, but she just felt like getting the work done and out of the way.
Every minute that she raked, milked, fed, and watered, she prayed and felt lonelier than she’d felt since those horrible days after her mother’s death. Chad had accustomed her to companionship again, and not hearing from him hurt. As she finished, she wandered with Portia out to the tree by her mother’s grave and sat curled there, her phone open in the grass and waited to hear.
“He’s testifying against that family, Mother. We have an advocate. Well, I know we’ve always had the Advocate, but we have a nice human one too. He’s very good to us—works so hard to help make everything here run smoothly.” Willow dropped her head to her knees. “He loves me, Mother. Not just cares about me like he does about his sister. Not anymore. He loves me. Sometimes I feel like I’m failing him that way, but he doesn’t seem to be upset.”
Cars whizzed by, Portia chased the sticks she threw, and the sun sank slowly toward the horizon. Still Willow sat, thought, prayed, and rambled to her mother about everything from the state of the garden to the progress she was making on spinning. She jumped to her feet and called Portia to her side.
“Girl, I’m being immature. I don’t care if he’s gone all day working and then helping someone or off to see his mom—or Todd—but he gets stuck in Rockland with that trial, and I act like it’s the end of the world. I’m going to make some dinner, play that movie on the laptop, bring in the charger since I’ve run this battery down, and spin until I’m exhausted. There’s a storm coming. It sounds cozy.”
Suddenly, she felt energized. She heated soup, made a salad and another sandwich, flipped on the house electricity, and set up her movie. Eagerly she raced to the barn for the phone charger and carefully plugged it into the kitchen outlet where she could hear it. With everything ready, she clicked the play button on the laptop, sat at the spinning wheel, and began the slow steady treadle as she worked to get her rhythm.
The wool twisted into a thin cord and eventually she managed to keep it reasonably even. There was something extremely satisfying about spinning as she watched the mill workers in the old cotton mills of northern England. The first raindrops hit the windows as she finished the first bobbin.
Thunder flashed, the wind picked up and rattled the windows, but she continued to spin and watch, almost unaware of the storm raging outside. Eventually, her calf muscle protested. It took longer each time she sat at the wheel, and a call to her physical therapist had assured her that she should push it until it threatened to go from sore to painful and then stop. Pain had already arrived.
Disappointed, Willow turned up the volume on the movie, moved the spinning wheel back into the corner by the chaise, and limped back to the couch. Her muscle cream was upstairs in the bathroom, and the idea of climbing the stairs frustrated her. Perhaps she should just go to bed. There was no way she would come back down and then return to bed. She’d fall asleep on the couch and wake up stiff and cramped.
A new idea occurred to her, making Willow feel ridiculously modern and decadent. She grabbed the laptop and cord, crawled up the stairs, plugged it into the outlet behind Chad’s bed table and sat it on his side of the bed. Excitedly, she brushed her teeth, re-braided her hair, and grabbed the muscle cream before crawling into bed and restarting the movie. Movies in bed. What would Mother think?
The first witness in Lynne Solari’s trial was Robert Beiler of the Rockland Chronicle. Chad felt his hands tighten into fists as the man took the stand, swore to tell the truth, and took his seat. He described his meeting with Steven Solari as an awkward tension-riddled conversation where he’d been drilled for information. “I couldn’t tell where I’d learned about who Miss Finley’s—” he glanced in Chad’s direction. “I mean Mrs. Tesdall’s father was. I thought he’d see right through me, but he seemed satisfied.”
“And why,” the prosecutor continued, “couldn’t you tell him?”
“Because Mrs. Solari told me I couldn’t. She gave me the information on Willow Finley.”
Robert went on to describe a meeting with Lynne Solari where the woman gave all the information necessary to write his article. “She’d discovered Willow’s existence through some contact with the ME’s office. Finley was a name she had flagged.”
“Are you saying that Lynne Solari paid someone in the coroner’s office to let her know if anyone by the name of Finley came through?”
“That’s what she said. The way she said it implied that Finley was one of many names, but—”
“Objection, assuming facts not in evidence.” The defense attorney rarely spoke. He hardly seemed to pay attention much less bother to object to any line of questioning.
“Can you tell us what she said exactly?”
“No,” Robert
began, “But almost. She said, ‘I have a contact at the ME’s office who lets me know when someone comes through that I am interested in. I never expected to hear Finley, but she came through in May.’ It wasn’t those exact words in that order but really close to them and the exact meaning.”
Chad was dumbstruck. Of all the scenarios he’d run through his mind, Lynne wasn’t even in the running. She’d left them with the impression that she knew nothing of Steve’s payoff or Kari Finley at all. This testimony implied otherwise. He missed the final questions as his mind whirled with possibilities.
“I call Officer Chadwick Tesdall to the stand.”
The first questions were simple. His name, occupation, how he met Willow, and finally when he’d met Lynne Solari. Chad felt the phone vibrate in his pocket, but he ignored it as he answered the question. “That is correct. She’d disabled her own car in order to have an excuse to come to the house.”
The defense attorney in a bored tone said, “Objection, conjecture.”
“Is it conjecture if she admitted it to us?” Chad used the opportunity to share the information by asking his question.
He pulled out his phone and glanced at the name on the screen. Willow. Thankful they hadn’t confiscated phones, he slipped it back into his pocket and answered the next question. “She said it was because she’d seen the article in the paper.”
Time passed with agonizing slowness as he answered all of the prosecutor’s questions and endured a rigorous cross-examination. He sighed, relieved as he was excused. His phone vibrated again just as a crowd of reporters surrounded him, and he impatiently shoved it back into his pocket as he hurried down the courthouse steps. The last thing he wanted to do is let Willow hear the questions fired at him one after another.
Everything changed in an instant. The A.D.A. left the building seconds after Chad, sending the flock of reporters away from Chad. He reached for his cellphone to call his wife and watched it shatter as a bullet ripped through it, before tearing through his body. Fire. His hand felt as though on fire. As he fought waves of nausea from the pain, he stared at the pieces of his phone and then crumpled to the steps.
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 4 Page 11