Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 4

by Chautona Havig

The spiraling descent from the mountains was a study in contrasts. Slowly the lush greenery gave way to trees, then rolling hills and finally on the highway, they whizzed into the barren brush-dotted desert. As they passed large housing tracts, complete with back yards not large enough for a volleyball game, Willow shook her head.

  “There’s all this land… why is everyone so packed together?”

  “I don’t know. You’d think land would be cheap when its unfit for growing and so far from the ocean.”

  Willow consulted her map and shook her head. “It’s just over a hundred miles to the ocean. That’s not that far. That’s a trip to Rockland and back.”

  Eventually the traffic along the narrow highway thinned, the stoplights disappeared, and they zipped along the road occasionally passed by an SUV or trapped behind a slow moving truck. The land rose and fell from valley to valley, but the road seemed straight as it sliced through the landscape. Odd spiky trees with branches that looked like a medieval mace stood alone against the landscape and occasionally in mini “forests.”

  At one corner, traffic converged between highways, but Chad continued straight ahead. Fields of solar panels flanked them on the left in direct opposition to the blank canvas of scrubby nothingness on their right. After a steep climb, a strange cluster of buildings, one with a gigantic “ping-pong ball” on top, appeared on their left. The sign, as they rolled past slower than before, identified it as a closed federal penitentiary.

  “Are you sure this is the way to Death Valley?”

  “We’re going to Ridgecrest first. It’s called the ‘Gateway to Death Valley,’ but I just really wanted to go that way because it is mentioned in one of Ted Dekker’s books, and I want to see it.”

  “I think this is so amazing. There are a million colors of brown and green that I’ve never seen before!” Willow’s eyes never stopped roaming the countryside as she pointed out trails, motorcyclists, and the occasional jackrabbit.

  A huge sign that read, “Ridgecrest, Gateway to Death” with the word Valley blackened out loomed in the distance. Around the curve, after turning onto a new road, the car sped up a slight hill and slowly showed the valley below them. “That’s Ridgecrest.”

  “Down there?”

  “Yep.”

  “But, there’s no ridge. That’s a valley!”

  “Look at the papers in the envelope. I think that valley is called the Indian Wells Valley.”

  “Why did they—”

  Chad interrupted her laughing. “I don’t know! Maybe ask someone in the town. I just know the name.”

  “The name is stupid.”

  “That,” he commented, still laughing, “I’ll agree with.”

  Willow couldn’t get over the strange little city surrounded by nothing but mountains. As they pulled into a museum parking lot, she pointed to a nearby park. “That looks interesting.”

  “It’s a park.”

  “Well, it looks interesting. I mean, look behind it—all brown and gray and then that park is all green and trees. It’s weird.”

  Once inside, Willow wandered through the exhibits while Chad asked directions to a good hotel and restaurant. Within minutes, she returned to his side, pulling him to see one of the exhibits and giggling. “Look. They have a Navy base here.”

  “Okaaay… and your point?”

  “This is the desert. It’s China Lake. In the middle of a valley, where there is no water, and they have a Navy base—in a place they call Ridgecrest.” A new fit of giggles overtook her.

  Chad pulled her toward the door, thanking the ladies who had made suggestions. “I think I need to get her out of the heat. It’s frying her brain.”

  She protested all the way to the car, across the town, and even a few times as they rode the short elevator to their room. “I’m not crazy—they are! I’ve never heard anything that made less sense.”

  “It is a name. It doesn’t have to make sense.”

  “But it should!” Chad started to respond, but Willow preempted him. “Promise me you won’t try to make me name a redheaded girl something like Raven or anything like that.”

  “I’d never try.”

  She dragged her suitcase into the hotel room and flopped onto the bed. “Whew.” A moment later, she sat up, glaring at him. “You wouldn’t try because you think it’d be a waste of your time.”

  “Wouldn’t it be?”

  Her hands dug into her purse for her brush and a hair tie, and she sighed. “Yeah.”

  Around midnight, Chad reached for her. It took several long seconds—as much as a minute or two—before he woke up enough to realize she wasn’t there. “Lass?”

  No answer.

  Chad dragged himself from bed and snapped on the light. She was not near the window where rain pelted it with enormous drops. He checked the bathroom and then glanced around for her shoes. Gone.

  He dressed, pulling his jeans on over his sleep shorts and digging a shirt from his suitcase. He stuffed his sockless feet into his shoes and grabbed the keycard to the room. The hotel was silent. Vending machines hummed as he passed, but Willow wouldn’t have used them for anything, so he moved along, checking the ice machine, the stairwells, and finally rode the elevator downstairs.

  The lobby was empty, but the night clerk recognized him. “She’s out front—seems to like the rain.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Chad shook his head, muttering as he strode toward the front doors, “Travel almost two thousand miles to the desert, and she stands out there and stares at rain—rain!”

  However, the moment he stepped through the doors, Chad knew exactly what drew her. There was no thunder, no lightning—nothing spectacular to draw you to it—nothing except the scent. A hint of sage filled the air, but there was more—something stronger. Willow stood under the portico but out of the rain.

  “Hey, lass. You all right?”

  She turned, smiling. “Isn’t this place a living irony? Can anything else happen that is so unexpected for it? Rain! I came all this way to see rain in the desert—to smell rain in the desert. I wish I could bottle this. I’d wash my clothes in it.”

  “What about your lavender?”

  “I think I’d take this over that.”

  As much as he liked the scent around them, Chad couldn’t agree. Life wouldn’t be the same without the subtle whiffs of lavender at the oddest moments at home. “Maybe just some things.”

  “I wish our rain smelled like this. What is it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I smell sage, but there’s more to it than that.” He tugged at her. “C’mon. Let’s go inside. I’ll even ask.”

  “Go ahead. I want to smell this a little longer. I’ll ask when I go in.”

  Chad wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his chin on her shoulder, “I never thought I’d fly and drive all this way to see you staring out at rain.”

  “I’m not watching rain. I’m smelling it. This is just intoxicating.” She tilted her head back. “I keep waiting for thunder and lightning.”

  “I know they get it sometimes. I’ve seen post cards with showers of lightning behind cacti.”

  Willow sighed. “You’re not going to go back to bed, are you?”

  “Not without you.”

  Ninety-eight miles from Ridgecrest , Chad and Willow pulled up to the famous “Scotty’s Castle” and marveled at the beauty of the desert villa before ever exiting the car. The sun shone hot overhead as if the skies had not emptied the previous night. Although they’d enjoyed the top down on their convertible for most of their California trip, the mountains and deserts were both too cool and too warm to be comfortable. A castle tour started only five minutes after they arrived, and as they wandered through the rooms with original furniture and clothing they were serenaded by the massive pipe organ. Immediately following, they wandered the quarter mile of tunnels and learned about the alternate power options.

  “Why don’t they finish the pool?” Willow couldn’t comprehend storing thousands of t
iles for almost a hundred years instead of completing the project.

  “The depression hit and the funds weren’t there. It isn’t your typical swimming pool. It’s quite elaborate,” the tour guide answered lazily.

  “All this room for two people,” Willow commented to Chad as they wandered the grounds. “They have staff housing. Who needs staff when you have nothing else to do?”

  “Maybe they wanted to spend all day playing that organ.”

  “Or building the pool,” she quipped, laughing. “I can’t imagine all this space and time and what you’d do with yourself if you didn’t have work to do.”

  “So in the immortal words of Carroll O’Connor in Return to Me, ‘I’m blessed with work.’“

  “What’s Return to Me?”

  Chad laughed. “A movie I’ll let my mom know you haven’t seen. You’ll love it.”

  Before she could respond, a strange looking creature darted across the desert floor and Willow chased after it. She shouted for Chad to head it off on the left and then pounced like a cat. “I got it! What is it?”

  Snickering, Chad poked at the little thing and said, “Horned toad. It’s a kind of lizard, I think.”

  “Oh it’s cute. I wonder if it could live in Fairbury?”

  “Probably not, and even if it could, the airline wouldn’t let him come.”

  Disappointed, Willow put the critter back on the ground and watched him skitter away again. “He was so unique!”

  “Let’s get pictures of this. I want our children to see what amazing places we visited.” Chad tugged at her hand leading her away from the bush.

  By the time they returned to LAX, Willow had seen the highest and lowest spots in the continental United States. She’d walked through vineyards in Napa, toured the capitol building, ridden over the Golden Gate Bridge, and stood on a low cliff overlooking the sea at Carmel. Out of spirits, she hardly wrinkled her nose as the TSA agent sent her through the metal detector and waved the wand over her. Chad watched, concerned, until he could pull her aside.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing—not really.”

  “Okay, then, what is not wrong?” He slipped his fingers between hers and tugged her toward seats set apart from the others.

  “Is it crazy that I want to be home so badly that I am going crazy for the time to pass?”

  “Not crazy at all.” He swallowed hard, fighting to hide his disappointment. She had seemed to enjoy the trip, but now he was not quite as certain.

  “Then is it crazy that I also don’t want to leave?”

  Without releasing her hand, he pulled her into a one-armed hug. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that right now.”

  “Does that mean it’s not crazy or that it is?”

  “That means that I was starting to doubt if this trip was a good idea.”

  “So,” she added after seconds ticked into a minute or more, “would it be too expensive to come back some winter? Can you see a baby playing at the shore like that?”

  “I think we’d have to go to Florida in winter. I think their water is warmer.”

  She grinned up at him, kissing his cheek. “Then maybe Florida next time—when there’s a baby to play in the sand.”

  Chad closed his eyes, absorbing her words. Next time. She expected to have a next time. After being certain she would never agree to leave the farm again, hoping for a next time wasn’t so crazy after all. “We’ll do that. I’ll take you to Disney World.”

  “What’s that?”

  A boy of about ten walked past and overheard her. “Dude. Disney World? Who doesn’t know about Disney World?”

  “I don’t. What is it?” Willow’s smile seemed to disarm the boy.

  “Wow.”

  Chapter 12 4

  October—

  Well, Chad has been back to work for almost six weeks. He spends much time with target practice when he’s off work. He has all kinds of hand exercises that he does. I think he’s concerned that as it grows cold, his hand will grow stiffer. I just don’t know sometimes if he’ll be able to keep working. At what point, will his hand fail him, and will it be in the worst instance possible?

  The harvest is finally over, we are settled in for winter, and I’ve been spending the past week trying to make our staples order. We need salt, oils, spices, baking powder and soda, paraffin, and things like candle wicking. I didn’t buy those things last year, and it shows. I actually had to have Chad buy me some salt from the store. How strange.

  The packaging on food products still astounds me. I have a dream of running a store where there are no packages. People bring their container, and I fill it up with whatever they’re purchasing. Then I weigh it and charge by the ounce or something. Can you imagine the waste that could be prevented? Chad says that the people who make their living by creating and producing that packaging would be out of work. I wonder what they would do, those people. Would they decide to live a dream they put on the back burner, or is their packaging job their dream? Is it arrogant and rude of me to find that a horrifying thought? Probably. Most of my thoughts like that appear to be.

  I am getting better at the dulcimer. I bought a book that explains how to read music and a book of music, but I find that I prefer to learn, as Chad calls it, “by ear.” I think this is what Mother warned against—this dependency on what I hear rather than knowing how to read and know at sight what to do. I won’t quit, though. I love sitting in my rocking chair by the kitchen stove and playing music while something bakes. Chad loves it too. He doesn’t think I know it, but he comes in the front door, leans against the wall opposite me, and listens. I can see him standing there as if he was in sight. I know he leans against the wall, he crosses his arms, tilts his head back, and closes his arms. If footprints are any indication, he also rests one foot against the wall.

  Winter will soon be here. The greenhouse seems to defy that. I am always amazed at how well things grow in there. I start a fire whenever I’m in there, and it seems to keep the plants happy. They don’t grow as lush when it’s cold, but they do grow amazingly well—if a bit smaller. I have much more food growing than I need, and that was the idea.

  On that idea, I have decided to follow Chad’s idea and build a vegetable stand. I’ll be open Monday through Thursday and let Jill have what produce I don’t sell for her Farmer’s Market. I’m moving the garden to the alfalfa field next year and will plant alfalfa in the garden spot as well as on some of the land that we bought from Adric—crop rotation! Us! We’ve been planning the fields, and I think it’s going to work.

  I am also buying more sheep. I ordered a dozen lambs for next June. We thought about breeding the sheep, but I’m not ready for that yet. I love the work, and I’m ready to take on the spinning and eventually the shearing, but I just don’t want to deal with pregnant sheep and new lambs. Not yet. Caleb thinks I’m crazy, and Ryder is thrilled. It amazes me how much Caleb loves the animals and how Ryder is only interested in the plants. If I ran a full-scale operation, I’d hire them both fulltime to manage each aspect of the farm, but we’re too small for that.

  Chad read the entry in late October and smiled. So, she knew about his trysts behind the wall as she learned to play. It amazed him how perceptive she was. It also amazed him how often she asked him to go look up something she’d written in her journal. His experience with Cheri for a sister had taught him that not all women like others—especially men—reading their journals.

  He gazed down at her, wondering once more if five months were five months too soon to be bothered by a lack of pregnancy. Then again, they’d lost much of July. For what seemed an incalculable number of times, Chad stuffed down his disappointment. He’d been so sure that they would have a special souvenir of their trip. The basket of “monthlies” in the bathroom that morning told him there wasn’t.

  It didn’t seem to bother her—not yet. He tried to keep his eagerness at bay. After all, six months ago, she’d still been struggling to accept the one part of ma
rriage that she’d feared most. A slow smile formed around his lips. He knew the exact moment that fear died. Lord, thank you for wedding gowns that lace up the back, he mused as he crawled into his side of the bed, trying not to wake her.

  She curled up against him, murmuring something about whether he’d eaten and if he had seen his mail. “I’m good, lass. Sleep.”

  The door slammed as Willow stormed out into the yard, but Chad didn’t follow. He sat in Mother’s rocker, seething. Lord, of all the stubborn—

  The door jerked open again. “—forgot to tell you that Luke called while you were sleeping.” She hesitated before biting out, “Love you—you irritating jerk.”

  His lips twitched as he finished his frustrated prayer. –unreasonable women, why did I think marrying that one would be a good idea?

  The recent calls list on his phone proved the veracity of her words—as if he needed such proof. He punched Luke’s number and waited for his cousin to answer. “You rang?”

  “Found a piece of marble at a salvage yard. It’s perfect, but it won’t last long. Got time to go look, or do you want me to just get it, or do you want to pick out something yourself and pay retail?”

  “Get it.”

  Luke’s relief told Chad he’d already bought it before he said, “Whew.”

  “You bought it before you even called, didn’t you?”

  “It was only fifty bucks!”

  Chad grinned. “I bet it’ll be perfect.”

  A few seconds of silence told him that Luke had something else to say. “Um, Chad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You sound irritated.”

  That surprised him. How did Luke know that? “Had a blow up with Willow.”

  “And you’re talking to me instead of to her?”

  “Letting her think through it. She’s being ridiculous.”

  “And wherever she is,” Luke insisted, “she’s thinking the same thing about you.”

  “Well she shouldn’t be.”