Confused and somewhat annoyed, Willow watched as he ate her stew, pulled a new minutes card from his wallet, and added them to her phone. As if to be certain that everything was in working order, he grabbed his own phone and dialed. Her phone rang, and he pushed it across the table.
“Answer it.”
“That’s crazy.”
He cocked one eyebrow at her. “Answer it.”
She glared at him as she picked up the phone. “I’d say hello, but what’s the point?”
“The point is that you can give me the silent treatment. You can wail, kick, scream, and fight me every step of the way, but I’m not leaving you alone anymore. You’re not thinking clearly. No one should hurt alone.”
“I have Lily.”
“When she has time and until you decide you don’t want her around either. I know what happens, and it’s not happening anymore.”
“I’ll call the police.”
Chad grinned as he took his last bite and stood to rinse it in the sink. “That’ll work just great, because they won’t have to send anyone out.”
Chapter Forty
Clyde McFarland pulled into Willow’s long drive the last Thursday in October. Willow’s note lay on the seat beside him, as if reminding him that everything had changed. The tattered edges of the note showed the wear of frequent rereading. For almost twenty years, Kari Finley had walked into Fairbury and called him, asking him to pick up their cow for butchering. This year, a handwritten note, signed by the girl, had arrived to request his services. The loss of Kari hit him hard—surprisingly so—but the cell phone number as a postscript… That hurt. Cell phones and the Finley farm did not mix.
As he rounded the curved driveway and pulled up to the house, he saw a truck parked in the yard. Surely, Willow hadn’t bought a truck! His heart sank just a little—and then further as a man strolled across the back yard to the pasture gate. More than the loss of Kari and the addition of modern communication technology had changed around the old place. It saddend him to see it.
Willow strode toward him in the same familiar work boots, flannel shirt, and jeans. Some things hadn’t changed. Clyde McFarland thought she was the freshest, most appealing young woman he’d seen in years. His eyes slid toward the young man at the gate. If expressions could be believed, the young fellow at the gate thought so too. Autumn winds whipped Willow’s hair across her face, and Clyde snickered as the man whipped out a digital camera, snapped a picture of her swinging over the gate, and stowed it in his pocket before she had a chance to notice.
“Mornin,’ Willa. I was sorry to hear about Ms. Kari. She was one of the finest women I’ve ever met.” His heart constricted as he watched her swallow hard and blink back sudden tears. It was still raw. How long had it been?
She gave him a watery smile. “Thanks. Mother liked you—trusted you. Mother didn’t trust very many people.”
“It was an honor to know her,” Clyde said. He meant it too. He pointed to the trailer. “You want me to take care of this?”
Willow shook her head and grabbed a length of rope coiled on the fence post. “No thanks. I’ll get her.” The animal followed Willow to the trailer, and as “Dinner” climbed up the ramp, she patted the cow’s nose. “I’ll miss you, girl.”
Clyde glanced at her sharply. The Finley women didn’t “miss” their food. “Are you sure—”
“Of course. Thanks. I’ll get the trash from the shed.”
He’d arrived every other day for nearly a week. She’d yet to speak to him. He ate her food, milked her goat when he could beat her to it, and brought wood from the woodlot that she subsequently split and stacked. It drove him crazy how much she fought his help, but Chad had determined not to let her angst affect him.
Willow had ignored him since the moment he arrived, but Chad went about his work, watching the man with the livestock trailer with a bit of a suspicious eye. A part of him felt a little ridiculous—sort of like an overprotective brother or father who assumes the world is out to get his little girl. Still, this man was used to dealing with Kari, and from what Chad had learned of Kari, the woman frightened people. Willow wouldn’t scare anyone who didn’t know her well.
He watched, concerned, as she led the animal up the ramp and closed the rear gate on the trailer. That pause—the touch of Dinner’s nose. It seemed so out of character. Clyde the butcher seemed to think so too if his expression was worth anything.
Willow banged the side of the trailer to let Clyde know all was secure and then disappeared around the corner of the barn. Concerned—again—he moved to follow once the truck was out of his way. Instead, it drove to the end of the barn behind Wilhelmina’s pen. Surely they weren’t—they didn’t eat— Chad swallowed hard. Before his stomach could begin churning the acids that rose and burned his throat as he imagined what he might have eaten with goat in it, Willow opened a small door in the barn—one he’d never noticed.
The trailer had two stalls. The second opened with an escape door and in there went two boxes and a barrel of what sounded like broken glass. Gunnysacks followed. He’d watched her burn trash—often, but he’d never considered that there might be trash she couldn’t burn. Kari had provided for every aspect of their lives. The last bag rolled across the trailer floor as she shut the door. It was a very small amount of trash—hardly enough to consider, but it was gone.
The process was remarkably short. From the time McFarland arrived until he disappeared around the curve of the drive, hardly twenty minutes had passed. Chad watched her, waiting to see how she handled herself, and then climbed into his truck with a wave. She didn’t acknowledge it—not that he thought she would.
His truck bounced over the lane. It was time to re-grade it. Just as he turned onto the highway, another livestock trailer arrived. A new cow already?
Willow, on the other hand, took a deep breath the moment his truck disappeared around the bend. Chad was gone; she could be off her guard. She fought the idea, but Chad’s presence and help was comforting. Although she knew it was ridiculous, her deep rage held her in bondage. A sound sent her gaze toward the window.
“He’s back?” she whimpered. “I thought he had to work.”
Chad jerked the back door open and walked to the sink, grabbing his cell phone from the window. She shook her head at him and said, “Oh that’s funny. That’s really funny.”
He winked at her as he passed. “Yeah, but I came back and got it. I practice what I preach.”
After Chad drove away, again, Willow went out back for more thrilling log-splitting fun. She stood log after log on the chopping stump, swung the axe, and stacked the smaller pieces on the back porch. The work went slowly—as tedious as she could possibly imagine. Exasperated, she slammed the axe into the splitting stump and left it there.
She jogged inside for her fishing rod, tackle box, and a thermos full of water. Ten yards away, she set them down and jogged back for a picnic blanket. She planned to sit and fish until she fell asleep from sheer boredom. Boredom, she had discovered, was a highly underrated commodity in today’s society.
At the fishing hole, she spread her blanket, attached her fly, and settled herself along the bank of the stream. The fish weren’t biting, which didn’t surprise Willow. She listened to the birds twitter and the squirrels chatter and watched as golden leaves dropped around her. The infusion of raw nature on her soul had a more soothing impact than anything she could attempt to contrive. In the middle of nature’s symphony, she fell asleep.
By the time she awoke, darkness covered the countryside and stars twinkled overhead. She lay there reveling in the beauty of the night sky, remembering other times that she’d slept under the same tree. If she was honest with herself, and that was something Willow refused to be just then, she would have admitted that she dreaded the return home. Her mother had always sat on the back steps petting Othello—Bumpkin in those earlier years—waiting. No matter how late she returned or how many fish she brought back with her, Mother had never complained.
Slowly, Willow retraced her steps home—every movement so familiar she could have made it blindfolded. The slight incline, all the way from the water’s edge to the corner of the barn, was harder to climb than usual. Her left leg balked at the uphill climb. I need to work more on those exercises, she scolded herself.
By the time she neared the house, she noticed a strange light as it flashed by the back door. At the corner of the barn, she paused. The light flashed again, and Willow recognized Chad’s profile. Why was he back again? He’d been leaving her at least every other day or night. If he started to make it a daily habit again, she’d take it up with Chief Varney. That’ll show him.
Once she reached the back step, Willow sat next to him and stared out into the darkness just he did. “Do you need something?”
“I just wondered how you were doing.”
“You’ve got your phone…”
He sent her a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know if you had it with you when I got here, so—”
“A few numbers and a send button would have told—”
Chad sighed. “I didn’t want to know this time.”
Remorse filled her heart. She’d brought him to this. He wasn’t willing to call because of the likelihood that she’d react—badly. “Oh, Chad—”
He stood. “Glad you’re fine.” Without another word, he walked toward his truck.
“Chad?”
He turned. “Yeah?”
Willow reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Sliding it open, she showed him the light. “Got it.”
Chad remained unmoved for several seconds and then retraced his steps until he stood just inches from her. Willow searched his face for some kind of indication of his thoughts. At last, and to her relief, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave her half a smile. “Thank you.”
The screen door creaked as he stepped inside. Strange that he’d never heard it squeak. Willow heard nothing. The tears he had expected were actually deep, heart-breaking sobs. He knelt beside her, and patted her back. “Shh. It’s going to be ok. It really is going to be ok.”
Willow jumped, startled, and then flung herself at him. A fresh torrent of tears soaked Chad’s shirt in seconds. “What—why are you—” she swallowed hard, “why are you back tonight? Again.”
“I had a feeling…” He couldn’t finish. Her sobs drowned out any words he attempted. Not knowing what else to do, Chad sat awkwardly on the chaise, one leg uncomfortably higher than the other, and passed her bits of toilet paper, brushed her hair from her face, and made sympathetic noises. Why didn’t I send Lily? he whimpered to himself. I liked it better when she was getting close to Bill, and it looked like she wasn’t quite so alone.
“You know,” she sniffled and grabbed another wad of toilet paper. “I’m so glad you’re the one who lives here and not Bill.”
“Why?” he asked, though he wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the answer.
“Because you don’t expect anything of me. Bill wanted me to become someone else, so I could be who he thought I should be. Chuck has his heart on his shoe, and I have to be sure to nurture it without stepping on it accidentally. But you, except for occasional bouts of clinginess— ”
“Clingy!” Chad leaned back in surprise.
“Well, you did make showing up on my doorstep a habit…”
“You invited me! You specifically stood on that porch and said, ‘I’d like to have people come over,’” he protested.
The tears stopped, hovering like a cloud ready to burst again, but she laughed. “I said stop in; I didn’t say move in!”
“Hey! I didn’t move in until you couldn’t wal—” he began. “Um, let’s try that again. I didn’t move in, I was just consistently available when you needed help.”
As if from out of nowhere, she asked, “Do you have a good name for a new goat? Willie is almost dry, so I need to trade her in—”
“You trade-in goats?”
Chad’s appalled tone sent another wave of laughter over her. “Well, sure. We get a new goat every time the current one goes dry. We have an arrangement with a breeder in Brant’s Corners.”
“Why don’t you wait and see what it looks like? I can’t imagine naming an animal before I saw it. Didn’t you say your mother looked in an animal’s eyes?”
The moment he spoke, Chad regretted his question. She’d just come out of a crying jag, and it seemed that now he’d start a new one with his bungling. She just wanted to see her mother—to talk to her. Kari was an amazing woman. He would have liked—a sigh escaped.
“Chad, what is it?”
“It is selfishness.”
“I don’t understand. You sound—even look—sad.”
His chuckle did not comfort her. It sounded cynical. “Well, you pegged it about right. I was sitting here thinking about how much I wish I had met your mother—about how often I think, ‘Aunt Libby would have loved her,’ and then I realized how selfish and pathetic I am to dare to want something for myself that should be my wish for you.”
“Should you want what God didn’t choose for me though? Is it right to do that?”
“Isn’t that what grief is? Are you saying grief is wrong?”
Her hands flew into the air waving in protest. “No! That’s not what I mean. And anyway, isn’t grief just a manifestation of the rift caused by death that we weren’t designed to handle in the first place?”
“That seems to imply that we’re flawed, Willow.”
“Well we are—”
“I mean the original design was.”
“No, but we were designed for a life that we don’t have.” She struggled to sit upright as she explained her thoughts. “It’s like what happened to me in Rockland. I was ‘designed’ for life on this farm and then ‘woke up’ in Rockland. It’s—oh, I can’t remember what it is called—some kind of shock.”
“Culture shock.”
“That’s it!” she exclaimed. “We have culture shock with death, because we weren’t created to suffer that loss.”
She stood. “You look miserable. Let’s go for a walk.”
“Where?” Chad just wanted to go home, but Willow’s thawed reaction to him wasn’t something to ignore.
“To the swing. You can push me. You like to push people around.”
“I do not!”
Their good-natured argument continued out the door, down the steps, and around the barn to the tree. Willow settled herself carefully in the swing and tiptoed back until her feet couldn’t reach any further. “Oh, it’s chilly. I should have brought my jacket.”
“Take mine,” Chad insisted wriggling out of it. “I’m not creating a personal breeze.”
“Bossy,” she accused as she stopped the swing and thrust her arms into the warm flannel-lined sleeves of his denim jacket. “Hey, this is warm. I thought it’d be cold. Denim isn’t the warmest fabric.”
“Don’t you have flannel-lined jeans?”
“Well—”
“I rest my case. Denim jackets need liners the same as every other jacket,” he informed her with mock haughtiness.
“Know-it-all.”
She pushed back and released the swing again. Chad pushed it as it swung back to him and said, “I thought I was Mr. Bossy.”
“That too.”
The crisp night air stung his nose as he stood there, pushing the swing higher and higher. From his vantage point, it seemed as though the next shove would send her flying through the night sky. The jostling of the tree branch shook leaves that sprinkled down on them from the tree. It was the scene of movies—mushy, ridiculous chick flicks that his mother and sister loved.
Words tumbled from him—ones he didn’t care to share. “You know, I don’t like telling people what to do. I’m better at following orders than giving them.”
“You’re in a strange job for that,” she retorted.
“My high school guidance counselor gave me one of those career aptitude tests.”
“What are
they?”
He regretted mentioning it. “Well, they just ask you a bunch of questions, and based upon your answers, they give you career advice. I scored high on law enforcement except in one area.”
“What was that?”
“Leadership. I’m not naturally a take-charge kind of guy.”
“Could have fooled me.” Willow’s voice held a tone of amusement.
“They put you through all kinds of psychological profiling before they let you in the academy, and I had to talk to the psychologist about my resistance to taking charge when I have ‘natural leadership skills and instincts. ’”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
He shivered as he pushed the swing again. “Well, basically I know how to be bossy, I’m willing to be bossy if I have to, but I only do it if I have to or if it’s my job.”
“So what part of your job is it to boss me around?”
Chad sounded like he was laughing as he shouted, “I’m not bossy!”
Willow jumped from the swing, landing eight feet away. Her calf screamed its protest, but she forced herself to ignore it. Jumping from swings was a normal part of her life. She had to try it some time. She spun in place and muttered, “Are too.”
Chad took a step closer and crossed his arms over his chest. “Am not.”
Not to be outdone, Willow took a step closer as well as she said, “Are too.”
Mentally, she calculated the distance to the fence. If she could make it there before him, she’d beat him to the house. However, with her gimpy leg, she knew it was a risk. Somehow, she had to get a head start, or she would have no chance of winning a footrace against someone taller, stronger, and without a leg with nerve damage.
Chad’s, “I. Am. Not!” growled back at her as he took another step toward her.
The swing. She had to keep the swing between them. Stepping slightly away from the fence and toward the swing and Chad, she put her hands on her hips and insisted, “You are too.”
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