With gooey egg hands, the boys enjoyed making a huge mess of themselves and the nesting boxes while Willow gathered the rest of the eggs. She led them outside and hesitated before putting an egg in each boy’s basket. “Don’t touch. Carry. Like this.”
All the way back to the house, Willow fought to keep the boys’ egg in their baskets without losing the ones from hers. Was it worth the hassle? With each step, Willow began to think it more work than it was worth. Still, how would they learn? Didn’t Marianne assure her that the boys would make more work for her while they learned to help, but eventually it would pay off? They’d never be that help if she never let them try. They’d be lazy and get into trouble.
“Well, Liam. You’ve got half that down,” she muttered as she stepped around the dropped egg and urged him up the steps. “You’re definitely good at getting into trouble.”
Lucas’ egg made it to the sink where he managed to dump basket and all on the floor before stomping his feet in a way that looked like some strange sort of ritual egg dance. By the time she managed to get the boys’ hands clean, bring a wheelbarrow full of clean straw back to replace the egg-soaked and other soiled straw in the coops, and get them back inside and changed, the boys were screaming for breakfast, Kari fussed in her basket, also demanding to be fed, and Willow wanted to go back to bed—indefinitely.
“Lord, I am beginning to understand that desperation in Mother’s journals. How did she do it? She didn’t have a Becca or a Chad to call if I needed her. What did she do? I need to reread those early years.”
“And,” a voice said from the back porch, “you need to remember that there was only one of you—not three.” Becca stepped in the door and gave her an encouraging smile.
Despite the truth of Becca’s words, the feeling of defeat didn’t dissipate. In fact, it increased. Sure, she had two more children than her mother had, but she had a world of community to help her—friends, family, husband, and two employees that spent a significant amount of time on the farm doing the work that she should do—that she would do if she had the time.
“And, didn’t you say those first years your mother bought all her food—had huge truckloads delivered by stores in Brunswick? I’d say that you’re accomplishing a lot more.”
“Maybe… it’s just a disappointing day.”
“It’s nine o’clock.” Becca crossed her arms over her chest. “The day just began.”
“And I’ve already destroyed it. I just wish it was over so I didn’t have—” Willow’s eyes widened. “Did I just say that?”
“Say what?”
“That I wished today—I did. I said I wished it was over. That’s terrible. Mother would let me have it for talking like that.”
“Everyone has an off morning now and then. It’s not a crime.”
“Wasting a gift of God has to be some kind of sin.” After a few deep breaths, Willow passed Becca the boys’ bowls. “Would you feed them for me? I’d usually let them do it themselves, but I’ve already cleaned them up twice. Time to do Laundry.”
“Sure.”
Without answering the question plainly written across Becca’s confused face, Willow picked up Kari and took her upstairs. Ten minutes of quiet nursing on the bed would restore her. Then it would be time for housecleaning. That could get interesting. Then again, maybe she could move their little portable crib out to the front porch while she worked. That would be a great way to keep them from waking while she worked.
After the disappointing start to her day, Willow half-expected the boys to refuse to nap or to wake up the moment she began her work, but all three children slept through the hardest of her tasks. She carried out the rugs, beat them until she was covered with dust, let them hang, and scrubbed the floors upstairs before going outside to beat them again. Twice Chad had borrowed his mother’s vacuum to prove its superiority, and twice she’d shown him a pile of dirt beneath the rugs within days. “It just beats the dirt down through the fibers,” she often insisted.
Becca helped carry them back upstairs, and sniffed the clean scent of lavender oil soap. “I never get tired of that scent.”
“I don’t either. I love to deep clean a house. I never realized how much I did until I couldn’t when I got hurt. I always thought it was just what we did rather than a joy, but there’s something very rewarding in a house that you just deep-cleaned.” She smiled at Becca’s hesitant nod. “Now, day-to-day cleaning is just necessary—not nearly as rewarding unless you don’t do it for a few days.”
“Maybe because you can’t see a big difference between a few dishes washed or a toilet scrubbed, but walls and floors and shining windows are very different, aren’t they?”
Willow couldn’t deny the truth of Becca’s words. “I suppose I might have to learn to appreciate the small things while I have small people “helping” me. Just making it to the house without dropping that egg—I suppose that’s something to be thankful for, even if it did end up splattered in the end.”
“Pollyanna.”
The name triggered something she hadn’t thought of in years. “Oh my. I remember the summer I read that book. Mother nearly lost her mind with my attempts to play the ‘Glad Game.’ I remember a goat getting sick and dying and saying, ‘I can be glad I don’t have to milk it for a few days.’ Mother walked to town and had the breeder bring us out a new one that day. I think it cost her double, but she sure seemed pleased with herself.”
“She played the game too then, eh?” Becca snickered at Willow’s curious expression. “I mean, she was glad she got to squash your glad.”
“I think that makes sense. My brain can’t seem to follow it, but I think—”
“That’s what Gram calls ‘mommy brain.’”
“I can be glad… I’ve got one at all?” Willow groaned, pulled sheets from her bed, and tossed them down the stairs. “Or something like that.”
“Works for me. Are you taking out the downstairs rugs or are you done with those for now.”
“Yep. Taking them out in a minute, but I wanted to finish up the upstairs laundry before I leave. That way it’s done, even if the downstairs doesn’t get finished for a couple more days.” Willow grabbed the hamper and tossed the contents down to the landing and on top of the sheets. “Mother would never let me do that, but it’s so much faster—just wrap that sheet over the rest and it’s done.”
“I’ll start moving furniture while you go put those in the wash.”
Willow paused by the back door. “I thought you were doing persimmons today.”
“Ryder thinks we should wait a week.”
Willow let the back door shut with a soft whack and called out, “Sounds good to me.”
By the time she returned, Becca had the dining room table rug rolled up and out of the way. She tugged at couches, wincing each time it made a noise. “I know I’m going to wake up those kids.”
“So shut the door.” Willow pushed it closed. “There. Let’s move ‘em.”
“Do you think that’s safe? Out there all alone with the door shut?”
“For the five minutes it’ll take us to move this stuff and roll up the rug, sure.” Willow paused. “Or am I missing something obvious.”
“I guess way out here with no neighbors to bother them. In town, people would freak out.”
“I started to put them on the back porch, but the dust—”
Becca’s head shook as she listened. “No, you’re right. I’m still such a city girl. I forget that people aren’t walking past or watching out windows for a chance to snatch a child here.”
Willow’s mouth went dry. “Does it really happen that often?”
“No, but who wants to have the guilt over their heads for taking that chance if they happen to be that rare person.” Becca grabbed one end of the rug and began to roll. “In our daycare, if either one of us had to go to the bathroom, we brought the kids in so they were always under supervision.”
Becca’s help made carrying the rugs out both swifter and easie
r. They hung them over the line and took turns whacking it. “Okay, we’ve got to let the air settle,” Willow decided. “How about I make some hot peach tea?”
“Sure. Just let me go drag out the stuff for the pumpkin stand. I thought I’d set it up later. Fridays-Sundays, right?”
“After church on Sunday, but yes.” Willow walked around to the front of the house, gazing out over the far fields where pumpkins grew. “They look nice,” she murmured before she realized Becca hadn’t followed.
The boys slept without stirring as she passed. A hand on each cheek told her they weren’t too cool. She stepped inside the house, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it. “I have about forty minutes before they wake, Lord. Can I do it?”
October 4
What a delightful day. It started out so horrible. I truly just wanted to crawl back into time and choose to bury Mother myself. I felt as if I had failed her, was failing Chad, and couldn’t help but fail these children. Such lies. How quickly we listen to the lies of sin and Satan! Still, I cannot deny how very real it all felt. Strange how feelings, while true that they are real and exist, also lie at the same time. You never know what to believe.
So, after an egg-ceptionally nasty morning, I forced myself to play with the lads—just enjoy being their mother. I find it harder to do than I first expected. I have a to-do list running in my mind, several in journals, and even more on the clipboard. All of them clamor for my attention. So, as I roll balls, push trains, and walk the kidlets around the property, my alter-ego presses upon me with an urgency I cannot escape. “You’re wasting time. This needs to be done. That needs to be done. Your house is filthy. Your projects are unfinished. You need to prepare this for winter. You need to do that in preparation for spring. Work, work, work.”
The pressure builds until I cannot hear the gentler truths of my life. The boys will only be this age once. I never get these days back. I can look on them as interruptions to my plans, or I can choose to embrace that they are the most important thing I can do today. That seems a strange way to phrase it, but it is exactly how I feel. They are my biggest, smallest, and most important job of all. Kari’s nursing moments force me to stop and relax. Well, I still have to force myself to relax, but without those moments, I might let the other things in my life crowd out these times with her.
But I found a hint of a rhythm this afternoon. The boys and Kari woke at almost the same time. I gave the boys those cheese crackers I made the other day—big hit, by the way—and while they ate them, I fed Kari in Mother’s chair and just talked to them. I told them what I thought we’d do, what we would make for dinner, how we’d save some for Daddy for when he gets home. Silly stuff that they probably don’t even understand, but Mother and Mom both say talking to the boys is how they’ll learn, so I do. I will now confess that I feel silly doing it, and I miss the quiet of a house without talking all the time.
Still, it worked. While they woke up with that boundless energy that I wish I could bottle for days where I have none, there was something less… I can’t think of the word… aimless about it. They played hard, ran, tumbled, wrestled—all the usual things—but without all the constant destructiveness that I fight on a daily basis.
It’s nearly eleven o’clock. Chad isn’t home. These shift and a half things are so hard on him, and now he’s overtime with that too. I wish he didn’t have to work so hard. My consolation is in knowing how much he loves it and that it does make a difference in him. I can feel when he has been away from work for too long. Strange—I can feel when I have been. That’s what he saw in me. That’s why he moved the chickens, goats, and that ridiculous horse closer to the house. He sees that I need the work.
I don’t think I’ve been able to write this much at a time in months. It feels good. It feels as if I’m finally fitting myself into my life again. Then again, what a ridiculous thought—or is it?
Chapter 185
Willow’s phone rang just as she grabbed the basket of fabrics for the children’s clothing on Saturday evening. “Becca? Anything wrong?”
“Not wrong exactly… just walking back from the pumpkin stand. Finally got it set up tonight. It’ll be ready for next weekend.”
“It’s Saturday night. Shouldn’t you be out with Josh?” She began separating piles, trying to decide what items came first.
“Josh had a meeting with someone about a job in Brunswick—interior design or something. It’s a small company, so the gal only had time tonight.”
Distracted, Willow murmured, “He would love that…”
“Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but I think you should know that Jason Ross showed up at the stand and talked to me almost until the time I left. I couldn’t make him go away without telling him to, and I thought twice in a row might be…”
“Might be what?” Willow dropped the little stack of diapers and stood, pacing. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just that I felt like—like he wouldn’t take it well if he got kicked off your property twice. I don’t have a cop husband to fall back on, so…”
“You need to carry a gun. I’ll talk to Chad about what we have to do for that. Shotgun might be enough, but I want you safe.” Becca’s words hit her just as she finished her thought. “Wait, you thought he wouldn’t take being told to leave well? Why?”
“He’s… he’s weird. I don’t know how else to put it. There is something definitely off about him.”
“This isn’t helping. Chad will want more concrete information than ‘off.’ What did he say?”
“Can I come up there? I see Chad’s truck coming up the drive.”
Relief and apprehension warred within her as Willow waited for her husband and friend to arrive. Kari, snoozing comfortably under the coffee table, stirred as she returned the fabric pieces and piles to the basket, dropping scissors in her haste. “Shh, little Kari-olivi-anne Daddy’s going to take care of everything. He’s very good at that.”
“Take care of what?”
Willow glanced over her shoulder. Once more, two opposing thoughts fought for preeminence in her heart. She wanted to brush off her words as nothing and wanted to rush to him and let him hold her until she knew all would be well. His arms won. Chad’s chuckle, the way his hand always found the back of her hair when he held her close—it all reassured her convictions that he would and could take care of them.
“Jason Ross showed up while Becca was assembling the stand for the pumpkin patch.”
“And that earns me a hug? I think I need to talk to this guy about coming around more often.”
She started to protest and then sighed as the foolishness of her reaction struck her. “How about I promise to hug you ten times more than ever if you keep him away.”
“Oookaaay…” Chad tilted her head to read her expression. “What brought this on?”
“I don’t know yet, but Becca is on her way to tell us. It sounds bad.”
As if taking her cue from a script, Becca knocked. Willow nearly said, “Speak of the devil,” but couldn’t choke out the words. “That must be her—she—her—whatever.”
“Are you okay, lass?” Chad moved to open the door. “C’mon in.”
Becca set her battery lantern down and shrugged out of her jacket. She shoved her gloves in the pocket and hung it before she turned around. “I had almost convinced myself I was being crazy but on my way up the steps—” She glanced at the window and then reached for the ties that held back the curtains. “I think he’s watching you.”
“Who—Ross?” Chad started for the door, but Willow pulled him back.
“Wait. Let’s see what she has to say. Besides, if he is out there, he’d drive away before you could get close, and you know it.”
With the curtains closed and the lamps turned low, Chad and Willow sat on one couch as they listened to Becca describe her evening with Jason. She sat in the near corner, leaning her arms on her legs, hands clasped together and an earnest concern on her face. “At first, I didn’t think much
of it. He pulled up, asked what I was doing, asked about the stand, and even apologized for the other day.”
“Seems normal enough,” Willow agreed, “but he didn’t insult your mother.”
“I pointed out that speaking ‘ill of the dead’ to a stranger who is still missing that person isn’t the most sensitive thing to do. That’s when it got really weird.”
Chad grabbed a notepad from his pocket and began taking down notes. “Why weird? What did he say?”
“He said something like, ‘If anyone knows how true that is, it’s me. I didn’t mean to speak ill of the perfect Kari Finley.’”
“That is weird. What did he mean by either statement?” Willow’s eyes slid back and forth between Becca and Chad, searching for some glimmer of understanding from either of them.
“I don’t know. I asked him if he needed anything, but he ignored me—just started asking odd questions like how you manage with Chad gone all the time and don’t I feel afraid being out there all alone.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Chad muttered. “If he is watching us, then he’ll know when Willow and the children are alone. That’s not acceptable.”
Becca sank against the couch cushions, eyes closed for a moment. “If he’s watching, can’t you get some kind of restraining order?”
“What would we say?” Chad stood and began pacing. “I can hear it now, ‘Well, judge, the guy showed up and said he didn’t think it was smart for Kari Finley to plan to walk to town in labor and then asked questions about it being unsafe for the women to be alone so much. He’s dangerous.’”
“Chad has a point,” Willow admitted.
“Well, thanks to him, I’m not comfortable anymore. I want Josh to come stay with me, but that’s not exactly going to happen yet, is it? I’ve got another… what… eight weeks?”
“Tell him anyway.” Chad grinned at Becca’s shocked expression. “Seriously. What would make him feel better than to know you consider him sufficient protection against a crazy guy who scared you? Tell him.”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 6 Page 5