Aggie shrugged. “Because they’re not surrounded by two thousand other kids in the same four-year age range for six hours a day?” At Willow’s look of incredulity, Aggie nodded. “Seriously, that’s the only difference between my kids and the kids of some of the naysayers. I’m not the only mom who doesn’t let her kids do the pizzeria, but I’m the one who ‘gets slammed’ for it.” She sighed. “Tina and I hung out like that a few times and not that long ago—ten years. Let’s just say I wasn’t proud of my behavior when Dad asked me about it. Someone saw me and mentioned it to him.”
“Bet you never did that again.”
Another sigh escaped. “Don’t I wish I could say that? We went a few times when we thought Dad wouldn’t find out.”
“What happened? Why’d you stop?”
“Someone recorded us on their cellphone.” Aggie groaned. “I saw it on a MySpace page the next day.”
“My-what?”
Lorna rushed to them. “I can’t keep Ronnie from trying to get on the ice.”
“Then let him on the ice.” Aggie shook her head. “He’ll fall, but he’ll be fine. Let him try.”
“He’ll get hurt.”
“I’ll worry about that. Just go play.” Lorna’s concerned expression prompted Aggie to add, “If you’re worried about him, offer to hold his hands and pull him.”
“That reminds me of something else I want to talk to you about, but tell me about the My thing.”
“It’s just a website—on the Internet. Kids used to put up their pictures, videos, music, talk to friends, rant about the day’s injustices. It was a lot of ridiculous garbage half the time. When I saw that video…” Her eyes closed and Aggie took a deep breath. “I told Tina I didn’t want to have another video out there ever that showed how stupid you could be when you let others influence you.”
“Makes sense to me.” Kari wriggled and Willow said, “Got room on your lap for a baby? I need to play with the boys for a minute.”
“Sure.” Aggie held out her arms for Kari as Willow unwrapped the baby and dropped the long strip of fabric over the bench. “Can you tell Lorna to go a bit slower? No reason to shout so people find more to criticize.”
“You knew.”
“Why else would she leave the moment I arrived?” Aggie rubbed noses with the baby. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”
“Who says I did?”
“Your logic. It’s just who you are.” Willow made it three feet away before Aggie called out to her again. “You wanted to ask me something?”
“Yeah… when we get home. Just something Alexa said.”
Chapter 197
November-
The house is quiet, but I can’t sleep. I can’t go outside and sleep on the porch swing, or I would. It would settle me. I can’t pray anymore. Seems strange to say that, but I can’t. I’ve been praying for two hours and I think I’ve probably put God to sleep, but I’m still wide awake.
Sharing this house with so many other people is stretching me. Someone is ALWAYS talking. Well, except at one-thirty in the morning. Right now, no one says a word, and my brain can relax. Now I know what Mother meant when she’d tell me to go tell my stories to the dog for a while. She meant that she needed silence.
I can’t get that woman’s words out of my mind. What Aggie said—about people criticizing her parenting—it bugs me. I want to find these people and ask them if they want the job of raising their sister’s eight children. I want to ask them if they will like having everyone harping on their decisions. If she lets the kids roam free, someone will say she’s too lenient. If she keeps them close to home, she’s too strict. If she balances the two perfectly on the fine string that seems to exist, I bet there’ll be someone who says she’s wishy-washy and needs to choose which side to follow. It’s just ridiculous.
I asked her about Alexa and the comment about it being ‘fine’ for Liam to run into her like that. She understood why it bothered me that Alexa would interrupt my correction. He shouldn’t be allowed to plow into people. Alexa meant well, though. Aggie says people are uncomfortable when children get corrected for things like that, so they try to head it off by telling the parents that they’re not upset. She also says she just corrects her kids anyway. I guess I will in the future. I wasn’t going to jump down the poor lad’s throat. I just wanted to remind him to be gentle with people. Soon it’ll be Kari walking around furniture and getting her head slammed into the coffee table because he’s too exuberant.
Now I feel sleepy. Only ten minutes until Chad gets home. I’ll wait for him.
Next week is Becca’s wedding. I’m so excited about that. Oh, and on an unrelated note, Tavish has taken over milking Redundant. I kind of miss it, but it’s good for him to be able to do that. We’re going to make soap tomorrow. Vannie, Laird, Tavish, and Ellie are going to help as part of a science project. They’re very excited to use the lye we made when they first arrived. It’s all ready to go. We put it in the jar yesterday. The kids were amazed that ashes, oil, and milk make soap. If they’re here long enough, I’ll have to show them candling too.
Clouds covered the sun, plunging the house into darkness. Willow set her spatula on a plate and flipped on the light switch for the children. Tavish glanced up at her. “How long has the electricity been on?”
“Since you arrived…”
Laird stared at his brother. “We turn them on when we go in the bathroom.”
“I don’t.”
Aggie snickered and shook her head. “I think we can stop blaming Ronnie for his poor aim. It’s obviously Tavish at midnight.”
“Aunt Aggie!”
Willow, anxious to stop any further embarrassment for Tavish, went back to sautéing onions as she said, “I didn’t think it made sense for candles everywhere with children who aren’t used to them.”
“I liked that when we were here before.” Tavish stared at his book. “Can we do it one night before we go? I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”
“You guys have been busy. It’s what you know so you don’t notice.” Aggie pointed to the list of prepositions on Tavish’s page. “Memorize.”
“If it’s okay with Aggie, we can move candlesticks and lamps higher and do it one night.”
Tavish pumped his fist. “Yes!”
“Why do you care? You haven’t noticed in all this time, so—”
Aggie gave Vannie a quelling look. “Unnecessary. You don’t need to criticize his wants. He doesn’t criticize your desire to wear pink.”
“I would if I could,” Tavish mumbled as he stared at the grammar book in front of him.
“Enough. Once more, I’m telling you. There’s no need to be contrary.”
“Did you really just say contrary, Aggie?” Willow beamed. “I love it. I thought that word had gone out of public use—along with a bunch of other words that I love and never hear.”
“Occupational hazard.” At Willow’s confused expression, Aggie added, “Homeschool mom. I have to read all kinds of literature aloud and the older, better stuff tends to affect how you talk. I found myself saying ‘don’t contradict your uncle’ the other day rather than ‘don’t back talk.’”
“I thought you said to tell them what to do rather than what not to do.” Willow’s eyebrow rose. “Which is it?”
“Well,” Aggie shrugged. “What can I say? Sometimes you just have to roll with less than best. Good enough sometimes has to be—good enough, that is.”
Tavish snapped his book shut. “I can’t remember any more. I just can’t. I’m good with stuff like of, to, in, but after that I start doubting myself. Is an a preposition or an article? I don’t know.”
“Preposition.”
“Article.”
Laird and Vannie exchanged glances before looking to Aggie for confirmation. Ellie spoke first. “An is an article. Rabbits and logs, Tavish. Can a rabbit ‘an’ a log?”
“Sometimes,” Aggie murmured as she went to fill Ronnie’s cup with water, “I think I should just have Ellie teach them all
.”
“What about reading?” Willow dumped the sautéed onions in the shredded beef and stirred.
“Well, she could probably handle the phonics lessons easily enough. The book actually tells you what to say for each section.”
Shaking her head, Willow grabbed her jar of Worcestershire sauce. Unscrewing the lid, she poured some in with the meat and stirred. “I meant the book you’re reading now—aloud. What if we did that to give them a break? I’m good at reading aloud.”
“What is that stuff?” Aggie’s nose tried to wrinkle, but she forced it to remain stationary giving her a pained look—much to Willow’s amusement.
“Worcestershire sauce.”
“In a mason jar.”
“Yes…” Willow shrugged. “What other jars do I have?”
Aggie glanced over her shoulder. “Do you all know what that means?” Blank stares answered her. Sighing, she rolled her eyes at Willow and said, “It means that Willow makes her own Worcestershire sauce.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Tavish shook his head. “She makes her own mayonnaise, her own mustard, her own catsup, her own relish—”
“I get it, Tavish. I’ve just never heard of anyone making Worcestershire sauce.” Her head cocked. “Just what is in Worcestershire sauce?”
Willow ticked items off her fingers as she tried to remember the recipe. “Onions, garlic, ginger, tamarind paste, anchovies, beer, tomato paste, molasses, cloves, orange juice—”
“She does grow her own tomatoes and onions,” Laird remarked with a smirk.
Vannie nodded, her nose wrinkling without compunction. “Does she ‘grow’ her own anchovies?”
“Anchovies are saltwater fish, stupid.” Tavish’s eyes widened. He swallowed hard at the look on Aggie’s face. “—um, sweetie.”
“Seriously, Tavish. Sweetie?” Vannie rolled her eyes. “Like Aunt Aggie would fall for that.”
“At least he tried to correct himself. Some people I could mention likely would have tried to argue in favor of inappropriate speaking.” Aggie kneaded one side of her belly with the palm of her hand and glanced at Willow. “You were talking about read alouds. Now would be a good time. They can’t talk during read alouds.”
“You never did tell me what book you’re reading.”
“100 Cupboards.”
Willow shrugged. “Never heard of it. Let’s read.”
“With the lamp instead of electricity?” Tavish nearly begged for it with his eyes on Willow.
Willow waited for a confirming nod from Aggie before smiling. “Lamp it is.”
“‘Above him, the stars twinkled with laughter. Galaxies looked. Nudged each other. Chuckled.’” Willow sighed. “That is a brilliant line right there. I love it.”
“That’s more than one line,” Cari argued.
“Cari…”
The girl met Aggie’s eyes and then slid hers over to Willow. “Sorry, Aunt Willow. Then what?”
The story slowly unfolded, one sentence—paragraph—page at a time. Between nursing Kari, correcting Liam, corralling Lucas, and waiting for Aggie to deal with her own charges, Willow read. Even the little children sat enthralled for shorter bursts of time. Willow didn’t imagine that they understood most of what she read, but something in the cadence of the writing appealed to the little tykes. Even Aggie said the baby quit kicking in her belly in the less exciting parts.
With great reluctance, she set the book down to finish dinner. The moment the boys went to bed, she picked it back up, starting at the beginning to read the few chapters she’d missed. Laird lay sprawled out with a laptop open, typing up a paper on the saponification process. Vannie struggled to blanket stitch the edges of a blanket for the baby, grumbling about her uneven stitches after every three or four attempts. The men sat in the dining room, papers spread across the table as they worked through each section of the Sullivan-Stuart home, trying to ensure they’d found every possible uninsulated pipe.
Kari stirred with each turn of the page, but Willow patted the little rump sticking up in the air, nuzzled the downy head with her cheek, and murmured soothing sounds as she read each thrilling new page. “Shh… I’m coming to the good part!”
Aggie stepped out of the bathroom, combing tangles from her dripping hair. “Time for bed.”
Without a word, Willow stood and jostled baby and book as she crept from the room. Giggles erupted around the living room, but they hardly entered her consciousness. Near the top of the stairs, Chad’s voice jerked her out of her reverie. “Lass!”
She whipped her head around her and wrinkled her forehead. “Hmm?”
“Aggie wasn’t talking to you.”
“Okaaaay…”
He tried again. “She was telling the kids that it’s time to go to bed.”
“Right.”
“So where are you going?”
Willow took two steps back down and pointed to the couch where she’d been sitting. “Who sleeps there, Chad?”
“Um…”
“Exactly. I’m giving them their beds.” Her eyes sought Aggie’s. “Men don’t get it, do they?”
“I wasn’t trying to kick you out, Willow.”
“Who said you were? They can lie on the floor until I go upstairs or I can go upstairs now so they don’t have to lie on the floor for another hour or so. I don’t see what the fuss is about.”
A spark of irritation—the first true indication that house guests, no matter how much one enjoyed their company, have an expiration date—ignited in Willow’s heart as she overheard Aggie murmur, “It’s just one of those Willow things.”
With Kari settled in bed, Willow stared at the cover of the book, her eyes roaming over the twenty or so little doors in varying styles and sizes. It’s just one of those Willow things. The words mocked her, hovering in her heart. Why did it always come down to things like this? Why must everything eventually become an example of her differences in actions, words, thoughts? If individualism was such a precious commodity in the world, then why didn’t people appreciate it?
She tried to shrug off her annoyance and read the book, but it niggled at her until she gave up any hope of concentration. With a snap that stirred the baby and caused her to whimper, Willow shut the book, set it on the table, and turned out the lamp. She sat up in bed, staring at the black hole that should be her overhead light. “I could have used it in here. I didn’t. I don’t even like electric light. It’s harsh on the eyes. Bet that makes me weird too.”
Minutes later, how many she didn’t know, the sounds of logs being loaded into the woodstove crept under the door. A light in the hall left a glow that bothered her. As a child, she would have been terrified of that light—glowing, almost sinister in its presence. That’s probably weird too.
Her eyes squeezed shut as Willow pulled the blankets tighter around her neck, trying to cover her ear without burying her entire head. The door opened. Even with her eyes closed, the shaft of light glowed before the door closed again. Wood scraped against wood as Chad pulled open the old dresser drawer and removed something—likely sweats and a t-shirt. She listened to the rustle of his shirt as he swapped a sweatshirt for one of the old, ratty t-shirts he saved to sleep in. No sounds of a belt buckle would have told her he hadn’t worked that evening—even if she hadn’t known it. How predictable things had become by sounds alone.
The covers lifted, cool air seeping into warmth she’d created and causing her to shiver. “Sorry, lass.”
“’Sokay.”
“But you’re not.”
His confident tone told her he’d noticed. You’re not as good at hiding your thoughts as you presume. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re not reading. You wanted to finish that book, but I get up here and the lamp is out and you’re trying to sleep, but you’re not even close to sounding tired.”
He had a point, one she couldn’t refute. “Couldn’t concentrate.” There—honest, if not exactly on topic.
“Spill it, lass.” Chad nuzzled up t
o her, wrapping an arm around her and murmuring in her ear. “What’s bugging you?”
“It’s petty and selfish. I’m not proud of it, okay?”
“Tell me anyway,” his chuckle sent the same flip-flops through her stomach that she’d once taken for fear. “It’s nice to be reminded that you aren’t quite perfect, no matter how much it seems like it.”
“Funny.” The silence of the house slowly pressed in on them until she couldn’t take it any longer. In an unusual moment of intuitiveness, Chad didn’t speak, didn’t urge her to speak. He waited until she whispered, ‘“It’s just one of those Willow things.’”
“What is?”
“That—that statement. Aggie said that when I got up so the kids could go to bed. Once more, what I see as courtesy to a guest in my home is just further proof at how ridiculous I am about things.”
“Well, you are this time.”
Irrational as may be, the words cut. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious. Lass, it was a compliment. She was saying that you were being thoughtful—being you.”
“I think you misread her.”
Chad’s head shook against the pillows. “Hmm mmm. I stayed down there for a few minutes, remember? I heard her talking to the kids—showing them how natural courtesy is to you, not because you learned rules somewhere but because you care about people and put others first.”
Willow rolled over, trying to see her husband’s eyes in the inky blackness of a moonless night. “Really?”
“Silly. Of course, really.” A sigh escaped, ruffling the tendrils around her face. “Since when do you care what others think though? That’s not my Willow.”
“Since it gets old sometimes. You have no idea how much I hear it.”
“I suspect,” he murmured as he kissed her, “you have no idea how often it is a compliment.”
Chapter 198
“Aunt Aggie says we can go to see a movie. Are you coming?” Cari stared up at Willow, wide-eyed and hopeful.
“Sorry, can’t. I have to butcher a few chickens while the little guys are sleeping.
Laird popped his head over the stairs. “Do you ever feel like the farm is just running your life?”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 6 Page 16