Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 5

by Chautona Havig

  “Definitely. I’ll mix the dry ingredients before we go. Yay!” Her eyes rose to the floor above her and she winked before adding, “Yay!” twice as loudly as the last time.

  One week before Chelsea’s due date, Chad came downstairs in the wee hours of the morning. He put on his shoes, ate a bowl of the cold cereal Willow still refused to touch, and thumbed through her journal. The latest entry was one he hadn’t read, and so as he ate the cereal that grew soggier with each bite, Chad read.

  August—

  The long nights of watching Chelsea not deliver a baby are harder on me than I expected. I think I have moved from relief that I will likely never have to endure something so painful again and an acute desire to take it from her. She’s so young—so worn out with the normal discomforts of pregnancy. These sometimes nightly cycles of pain are wearing her out.

  We took the boys fishing, and I haven’t felt more relaxed and happy in such a long time. It felt like MY life again. Work always feels natural and good, but when I have time to take a walk in the woods, pick the flowers, fish a little, or just swing… those are the times that I feel as if my life is what it should be. I suppose because those are the times that feel most like Mother would approve. She was so firm in her conviction that each day needs a bit of “Sabbath” to it just as each week does. Not that we must observe some ritual to be “holy,” but that God built the principle into our lives to bless and refresh us. I’ve always struggled with wanting to do more—try new things—and when I let that eagerness consume me, I lose sight of the things that truly do matter.

  Nearly every day, Chad or I will say how blessed we are to have Becca. Hiring her has given me back the life I want to live. I work still, definitely. But this work I do is the work meant FOR me, not just work. Mom says that this is the problem with American society today. She says that we have become so addicted to doing more—being more—that we don’t have the self-control to choose only things that fulfill us and our purpose here.

  The thing is, isn’t that what Chad and I did? We found good things to do—valuable things. We took what we already did and increased it. Somehow we turned the beauty of work in our lives into busyness in the name of business. Three or four times now we’ve rehashed the same idea—we’re doing too much and need to cut back to what works for us. Each time it seems so overwhelming and as if we’ve failed or something, but when I talked to Dad about it, he said that Mother had to do the same thing when she first started here on the farm. She had to choose between existing without any electricity, all electricity, or a balance of it. She had to choose between chopping wood or holding me that first year. She kept just one plate, one bowl, and one glass for each of us. That was the perfect balance for her not to get lazy with her work. For us, we need more because there are more of us, we have visitors that Mother never had, and we have other things to occupy our time besides washing the dishes. So, if finding that balance took her time, why are we surprised when we keep having to do the same thing?

  Speaking of Mom and Dad, they came for the weekend and Cheri came for a few hours too. Mom has this nifty little machine that does amazing emboss work. You just put paper in a little folder, crank the machine, and the pattern is perfect! She also had a stylus that works really well for me designing my own embossing. I don’t know which one I’ll use, but knowing I can do it really makes me want Becca to choose the new design I came up with. Cheri liked the monogrammed prototype. Chad is disgusted, but hey. I think it fits her.

  The call came in from Ms. Claremont. Apparently, Ellene Tuttle knows what she’s talking about, because Ms. Claremont was very direct—almost curt—but quite sincere about her approval of our home for Chelsea’s baby. Apparently Maeve Zolora had a family emergency and the report she had on us just had the words noted that she wanted to be sure to address—not things she was concerned about. The assistant just typed up a letter to notify us and wrote it all wrong. I wonder if he or she has any idea what kind of panic she sent through us—especially after the meeting with Wendy Claremont. Wendy… no wonder she sticks to “Ms.” I’ve never seen someone so utterly misnamed in my life. She should be an Alexandra or a Justine. Something formal and elegant but not excessively feminine.

  Canning is in full force right now. Becca and I take turns doing batches. I want to keep up with what I can, but when the boys wake up, she takes over. I’ve been processing plums and pears until it seems like we’ll have more than we can use, but even if we do, we can give some for Christmas gifts or to Becca and Iris. The boys like to watch. We give them bowls and pieces to play with. I don’t know if they think they’re helping or if they are just playing. I wish they would talk more, but Iris says boys talk later than girls and less. They like to make more noise, though. Why would that be?

  Well, I should sleep. The call could come any time. I told Chelsea that if she ever calls midday, I’ll know it’s going to be the real thing since so far it’s always been at night. I do not think she was amused.

  Something upstairs interrupted Chad’s reading. He stood, stepped into the dining room, and then grabbed his bowl to carry to the sink. Willow’s phone. She’d be calling Becca now. “Lord, please let that baby come,” he muttered as he washed his bowl and spoon and put them in the drainer.

  Willow stepped into the room, her hair still tousled from sleep. “This one’s it!”

  “Wha—”

  “Sharon called. This time, Chelsea’s water broke! From the sounds of it, she’s already having a rough time.”

  “I’ll come straight to the hospital after work.”

  She hugged him as she passed him on her way to the pantry. “I thought I’d milk myself before I go so that I’m not getting too full while I’m there.”

  “They should have them there too if you need one.”

  “True… maybe I should just take it and—” Willow shook her head. “Silly. We’ll be busy trying to get her comfortable. I have to wait for Becca anyway.”

  “I’ll go make our bed and make sure the sheets on hers are clean.”

  “They are,” she assured him. “I changed them yesterday. The boys and I had great fun with them.” Her eyes directed his to the clock. “Besides, you should go soon.”

  “Should or not, I don’t want to now.”

  Willow handed him his covered coffee mug. “Get yourself one of those coffees from the Grind when they open.” After a quick kiss—and one that took much too long—she pointed to the door. “Keep safe and keep Fairbury safe. I’ll call.”

  Ten minutes later, as Chad pulled into the station, the reality of his life changing, yet again, hit him hard. He threw the truck into park and gripped the steering wheel. “Wow, Lord. Wow.”

  Chapter 176

  Marianne arrived just as Dr. Kline insisted Willow leave to eat. “You’ll need your strength.

  Taking charge, Marianne gave Chelsea a quick hug and pushed Willow from the room. “I was going to see what you wanted and bring it back,” she explained, “but this’ll give you a minute to rest.”

  They passed the corridor to the cafeteria, prompting Willow to object. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Somewhere quiet, where you can get a nice relaxing meal.”

  “But—”

  They stepped into the elevator and Marianne allowed the doors to close. “No buts, girlie. You need to relax or you’ll crash just when that poor girl needs you. Ryder is there. That’s enough for now.”

  “Ryder’s girlfriend is bringing him lunch. Won’t that be awkward for Chelsea?”

  Marianne shrugged. “I don’t think he’s the kind of boy who would allow his girlfriend to make the mother of his child uncomfortable during labor. If she’s coming, Chelsea’s probably fine with it.” The elevator doors opened again, and the women stepped into the hall. “I like how he is staying with her until it’s over. Too many boys would just disappear once they broke up and he signed away his paternal rights.”

  “He told me he would have paid child support, stayed involved
in Kari’s life—everything—if Chelsea had chosen to keep the baby.”

  “I believe it too.” As they stepped from the building, Marianne pointed to her car. “I’m over there. You know, Dad and I think Ryder will become a Christian after all this. He’s seeing ‘pure religion’ in action every day.”

  Willow opened the passenger door, leaning on it for a moment, and sighed. “I hope so. I can’t help but wonder if maybe he’ll regret it and then move away.”

  “Any boy willing to be a single dad is not going to move far from his child if the adoptive parents are willing for him to be close. Give him time.”

  As they pulled into a restaurant parking lot, Willow gripped the door handle as if it would somehow help her say what she wanted to say. “You know, I know one way to make him take a serious look at Christianity. I have no doubt it would work.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “It’s manipulative at best.” She felt Marianne’s eyes on her and whispered, “All I have to do is say something like, ‘Your parents consider Christianity to be a crutch for unintelligent minds, right?’”

  “Oh.” Marianne played with the keys in her hand. “I see. Just pointing out that his parents rejected something is a really good way to get him to explore it.”

  “And a really good way to reinforce bad feelings between them.”

  They had their choice of nearly any table in the restaurant. Marianne chose one in the corner—quiet and private. “Just relax. Do you know what you want?”

  “I don’t care,” Willow assured her. She closed her eyes and tried to relax. “I wonder how the boys are?”

  “They were fine an hour ago. I sent Becca out to do whatever she needed to do and then put them down for a late nap before I left.”

  “Oh!” Willow’s head snapped up. “Thank you. That was—”

  “Relax. It’s what grandmas do.”

  “My boys have the best grandparents ever. I can’t imagine how Mother ever managed without having someone to talk to—to learn from. I’ve always known she was an incredible woman, but when I think of all the help I need…”

  “I don’t think it’s a matter of need as much as accessibility. You have it and are wise enough to use it, but if you had to do this on your own, you would. You could.”

  “Maybe,” Willow agreed, “but don’t you think if I had been twins she would have had to find help?”

  “What if there was no help—anywhere. What if the world blew up and she was alone with those twins with no one to help? Would she do well because she had to or would she give up?” Marianne’s hand crept across the table and squeezed Willow’s. “I can’t believe I’m the one reminding you of all people this, but your mother wasn’t all alone. She had all the help she could ever need—in the Lord.”

  Those words spread across Willow’s heart, coating it before slowly sinking into her soul. She sat unspeaking, lost in thoughts, even after the server brought water and took their orders. Once her mind and heart reconciled truth and emotion, Willow sat up, leaning against the table.

  “I think…” Should she say it? Would Chad’s lovely mother misunderstand—think less of her? “I think that I can only just now see the beauty of what Mother did. It took losing—” Her forehead furrowed. “Well, actually giving up is more accurate. I chose a different path. It took choosing another life to see how fully she had to rely on the Lord. I’ve always seen her as so fiercely independent, but she was more than that. She was also utterly dependent on the only One who could truly help her in need. That is something I don’t have anymore.”

  This time Marianne kept silent, thinking. Their meals arrived, and still neither woman spoke. At last, just as Willow decided to reassure her mother-in-law that she did not regret the changes, Marianne said, “Willow? I think you have just as deep a dependence upon the Lord as your mother did. I just think it manifests differently. You have to choose to recognize that the Lord’s provision and care for you is through His people rather than through yourself or supernaturally through Him. It’s the same thing. It just manifests in a different way.”

  “I’m not sure I see what you mean.”

  “Well—”

  Understanding dawned. “Oh! You mean that I rely on the Lord for help or emotional support and the Lord provides it through Chad. Mother relied on the Lord for help and emotional support and the Lord provided it through herself and later through me. It is more overt to come directly from Him or feel like it does, but that doesn’t make it any less of a provision if He uses someone here to provide it.”

  “Right… and in a way, it’s harder for you. You have to consciously choose to recognize the Source of your help.”

  Willow didn’t taste her food. She ate methodically, robotically. Each bite cut without thought, chewed without notice, and washed down with a sip of water before repeating the process. The stress and interrupted sleep of the previous six weeks caught up to her in one overwhelming rush. Had Marianne not called her name in time, she might have collapsed into her plate of pasta salad.

  “I think I’ll be glad when I can take this baby home and get some sleep.”

  Marianne snickered. “Did you hear yourself? Sleep with a newborn?”

  “They wake up often, but go back to sleep.” Willow yawned. “I just want to begin my life.”

  The words hovered between them. Tears filled Willow’s eyes. “I can’t believe I just said that,” she whispered. “Why did I say that?”

  “It’s the exhaustion talking.”

  “But, ‘out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks,’” she protested. “Have I really become that person? Have I given up everything Mother taught me? I—” Illogically, a new thought occurred to her. “Wait, where is Chad? Why hasn’t he called? He should have been off work hours ago.”

  “He didn’t call?” Marianne frowned. “He came by for something to eat and went right back—something to do with an accident on the lake. The Sheriff’s department is out there too. I heard rumors of drug stuff in town, but I don’t know how true that is. He didn’t think he’d be off before six o’clock.”

  Willow pulled out her phone and sighed. “I forgot. I turned it off when Chelsea was sleeping. Any noise seemed to wake her, so I thought…” She inched her way out of the booth. “I’ll be right back. I want to see if he can talk for a minute.”

  The afternoon drifted into evening, and Chelsea labored. The epidural kept her comfortable, but exhaustion took its toll. Sleep rarely happened, but when it did, Willow protected it with everything she could. She ushered the others out of the room, insisted the nurses stay away if they possibly could, and at one point, even asked Dr. Kline to come back later.

  Chad arrived just after nine o’clock and suggested she eat again. The nurse checked Chelsea’s progress and pronounced her at “eight,” a number that did not impress the laboring mother or Willow. However, with the assurance that birth would be at least two or more hours away, she agreed to leave for an hour at most.

  They ate at Denny’s—a first for Willow. After eating a few bites, she frowned. “Well, there’s a lot of food for very little money and doesn’t taste horrible…”

  Laughing, Chad waggled his burger. “That’s why I recommended burgers. They do great with those. Roast… not so much.”

  She reached across the table and took his burger from him. After a bite she hesitated and shoved her plate across the table. “Trade?”

  “I—” She smiled and raised her eyebrows in question. Sighing, Chad passed her his plate and picked up her fork. “Man, lass. You’ve made me into one of those pushovers.”

  “You always were one. You came back when you didn’t want to, remember?”

  “Either that,” he teased, “or I’m just a sucker for a pretty face.”

  “I thought that was called being a man?”

  Chad snatched the sprig of parsley from his plate and threw it at her. “You’re so going to pay for that.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “
Do you want me to prove it now? I guarantee you’ll be thoroughly embarrassed and I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

  All Willow’s bravado evaporated. “Okay, okay. I believe you.” She toyed with the parsley before she added, “I call a five second head start.”

  “You’re on. I’ll even give you twenty-four hours to get sleep before I challenge you.”

  “It’s gonna be pillows, isn’t it?” Willow leaned forward. “What is it Cheri says at times like this? Bring it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, then. Bring it.”

  Once she ate, Chad led Willow to the truck and reached behind the seat. “Brought the pump.”

  She stared at it, glancing around the parking lot. “Hey—that corner over there. Want to park there? I can’t use this thing discreetly with this shirt.”

  For the next twenty minutes, they chatted as she let the machine do its job. Her eyes watched the truck clock, and she grew nervous as the time neared ten-thirty. “Shouldn’t we get back?”

  “You ready?”

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “Chad?”

  “Hmm?”

  “How important is it for you to hold the baby as soon as it’s born?”

  “Why?”

  She swallowed hard and forced herself to suggest the one thing she did not want him to do. “I just was thinking… you’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours. That baby could come by midnight or it could be after two or three o’clock. If a few hours later won’t make you feel like you missed out, maybe you should just drop me off and go get some sleep.”

  As if an answer, Chad yawned. “I don’t know…”

  “I’m not trying to get rid of you, but I do think it might be nice if one of us was semi-coherent. We know I’m not going to get any sleep, so…”

  He pulled up to the emergency room doors and let the truck idle. “It just seems so wrong not to be there if I can. And I can.”