Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 2

by Chautona Havig

  “What is wrong?”

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “I—” she patted her pockets, looking confused. After a moment, she remembered.

  “Oh, yeah. I thought I heard it ring when I was filling the water trough, so I tried to answer it, but I dropped it in the trough. I haven’t fished it out yet.”

  Relieved, Chad grabbed her shoulders and shook them slightly, before wrapping her in a bear hug. “You scared me.”

  “I’m fine. Really, but your phone is ringing.”

  With a grin that told her they weren’t done with the conversation, Chad answered the call. She waited to hear what he wanted, but the protests of her chickens drew her across the yard to the chicken coop. “There you guys go. Get in there where it’s nice and warm.” Willow talked to the birds as they climbed the ramp to the coop, plugged in the oil heater, and returned the bucket to the barn.

  “Come on, Willow,” Chad called. “The Chief has a suspect at the station.”

  “I can’t. I have to milk Ditto.”

  “Start the water and then go change. You have mud on your jeans. I’ll milk her.”

  By ten after five, Chad led Willow into the station where Caleb Allen sat looking miserable. Another boy, slumped and handcuffed to a chair, sat next to Joe’s desk. “Ryder, your parents are coming.”

  “Let ‘em come.”

  “We have your fingerprint on the key Ryder. It was in your possession.”

  “Means nothing to me.”

  A professional looking couple burst into the police station, demanding to know what was happening and why Ryder was in custody—again. It took an hour to sort out the details, but eventually Ryder Hudson’s parents managed to force him to admit that he’d stolen the key from Caleb.

  “I read the article about her,” Ryder confessed. “I thought someone like that might—”

  “Stop, Ryder. Wait until Renee gets here,” Mr. Hudson demanded.

  As Willow turned to leave the station, Caleb Allen stopped her. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I knew he wasn’t trustworthy. I shouldn’t have mentioned that I had the key. I just wasn’t thinking.”

  “No harm done. Not really. I hope you’ll be available again soon. I might need to take a trip to the city in early January. I’ve been thinking I might stay over.”

  Pride filled Chad’s heart. He knew Willow had considered going to the grand opening of Boho Deux. And he also knew she’d decided against it. Her request provided a way to assure Caleb that she didn’t blame him for the situation.

  Later, in a room spit-bathed in incandescent light, Chad and Willow cleaned the mess created by Ryder Hudson in his search for stashes of cash. “He pictured you like some old miser with money hidden under your mattress, in between book pages and stuff like that.”

  “Fortunately he wasn’t destructive. Reorganizing these papers will take hours, but they’re still here. I’ve heard of thieves getting angry and vindictive when they don’t find what they want.”

  “Well, Ryder is on his way. That kid needs boundaries, less ready cash, and parents who don’t rely on a safe, quiet town as a babysitter to keep their bored and rejected kid out of trouble.”

  “I thought Joe worked with kids to prevent that.” She moved her head out of the light’s path in order to see well enough to wipe at the fingerprint dust on the windowsill.

  Chad sighed. “He can only do what the kid will cooperate with. Ryder knows that this move was a last ditch effort to keep him out of trouble and out of their hair. He resents it.”

  Willow sat cross-legged on her mother’s bed sorting papers. “You know, when he’s done being in trouble for breaking in, see if he wants a job. He can help me assemble the greenhouse.”

  “Why would you hire someone who tried to steal from you?”

  “You said it,” she explained. “He wants something to fill his time. He wanted money for something, and maybe if someone invests some time in him, he won’t feel the need to call attention to himself.”

  “Wow.”

  She rolled her eyes at him and imitated something she had heard Cheri say. “Whatever.” His grin told her she’d gotten it right.

  Page by page, Steven Solari made his way through the city papers. His eyes scanned every article with the precision of a diamond cutter and the speed of a racecar driver. His eyes seemed to cling instinctively to any words that might be of interest to him, and he circled them all. Some of his associates employed people to search the Internet for them—he had a tech geek as well—but no one had his instincts. And relying on search terms alone was a solid way to miss the little things.

  The Fairbury paper captured his interest immediately. The bottom quarter of the front page was devoted to a story of juvenile breaking and entry. Smoothing the paper, he read every detail, twice, and smiled to himself as he read Willow’s quoted remarks. Wanda, the receptionist, stepped into the room, saw his expression, and stepped back out again. She hated that look.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  “I need to watch The Music Man. Do you have it?”

  Chad’s face drooped. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No,” she asserted calmly. “Aggie wants ‘Shipoopie’ dresses from The Music Man. I don’t know what that means, but I need to see it.”

  The pieced table runners were now basted and Willow quilted them as she and Chad talked. Chad worked on the loom, his work slow and cautious. Though he had consulted with Luke regarding the best way to repair it, he lacked confidence in his skills. Occasionally he glanced up at her, watching her needle weave in and out of the fabrics. The one rolled next to her and ready to quilt, he knew must be for his mother. The colors were perfect for their dining room at home.

  “Why don’t I borrow that player again and rent the movie. You can keep it here for a few days until you get sketches made. You don’t have to watch the whole thing. Just find the Shipoopie part.”

  “How am I supposed to know what a Shipoopie is? It sounds like an embarrassed mother telling her child to go use the toilet.”

  Chad chuckled as she wrinkled her nose and held up the quilted piece. “Looks nice.”

  “It’s almost done.”

  “What is it for?” Chad thought he knew.

  “Your bar in your kitchen. I thought it’d tie in nicely with the rug.”

  Bingo! “I like it. Thanks.” He paused. “Hey, I forgot to tell you. Ryder says he can start working with you on Friday, sometime after noon. He gave me his cell number.” Chad pulled a paper from his wallet and laid it on the coffee table.

  “I hate this phone,” Willow groused as she tried to punch in the information. “Everything is different, and I forget which way I’m supposed to do things.”

  “Adding you to my plan was cheaper in the long run, but they didn’t have your phone.”

  “It’s still annoying.” She slid the phone shut and tossed it at him. “Here, you figure it out.”

  “You’re grumpy.”

  “Mother would tell me to go to bed and quit making both of us miserable. She didn’t have much patience with crabby monthlies.”

  You set yourself up for that one Chad. Get out of it, fast! He thought to himself. Chad cleared his throat. “Well, it is getting late—”

  “Before you go, would you see if you see anything strange around the barn? I thought I saw snowshoe prints earlier, but Saige was barking like crazy over at the chicken coop, and by the time I got back, I didn’t see what I thought I saw.”

  The hair stood on Chad’s neck. “You go to bed. Lock the doors well behind me. I’ll see you Friday afternoon with Ryder.”

  “Not coming out tomorrow afternoon?”

  He put the few remaining pieces back in the box and put the semi-complete loom in it as well. “Nope. Got a dentist’s appointment in Westbury.”

  “Why go all the way—”

  “Dr. Dunn has been doing my teeth since before I had very many.” Chad explained as he rose, carrying the loom upstairs.
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  “Have fun!”

  Chad dumped the loom in the middle of the craft room floor. “Fun? Is she serious?”

  Willow froze the screen and called Chad in disgust. “This movie is silly.”

  “What movie?” Chad’s mind was on Aiden Cox sauntering down the street carrying his skateboard.

  “The Music Man. For one thing, they keep singing for no apparent reason half the time.”

  “That’s why they call it a musical,” Chad explained.

  “And this Mayor is a pompous jerk.”

  “Sounds like a stereotypical politician—”

  Her patience was reaching its limit. “And this ‘Shipoopi’ song is asinine.”

  “Why do you say that?” Chad’s heart wasn’t in the conversation but he tried.

  “‘A woman who kisses on the very first date is usually a hussy.’“

  “Well, I guess that depends on how long you’ve known her,” Chad commented.

  “‘And a woman who’ll kiss on the second time out, is anything but fussy.’“

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This song! Get this. ‘But the woman who waits ‘til the third time around, head in the clouds, feet on the ground—she’s a girl he’s glad he’s found; she’s his Shipoopi’. Then they say, ‘the girl is hard to get.’”

  “I told you—” he boasted triumphantly.

  “Well, I’m done. I got the dresses sketched. I know how to make them. I’ll start after New Year’s.”

  “Got him,” Chad announced triumphantly. “I have to go. Aiden just jumped on that board again.”

  Willow shut her phone and stared at the screen. It seemed silly not to see how the movie ended, but she wasn’t sure she could handle another song. She glanced outside to see what kind of progress Ryder had made in assembling the frame of her greenhouse. When she’d sneezed the third time, Ryder had encouraged her to go inside and let him work alone.

  Friday he’d been surly but listened and followed instructions reasonably well. Saturday, he prevented her from assembling something out of order, resulting in a new camaraderie that tore down the walls he’d originally constructed. By Sunday afternoon, he worked outside, alone, and with an eye to her well-being.

  Rapping on the window, Willow pulled the pan of milk from the stove, stirred in cocoa and sugar, and poured it into a cup. Ryder hurried inside. “You ok, Ms. Finley?”

  “You looked cold. Have some chocolate.”

  Ryder sat in the chair at the table and watched Willow as she rocked and sniffled into her handkerchief. “Why are you so nice to me?”

  She had expected the question. A boy like Ryder would be suspicious of anything that didn’t fit his perceived ideas of justice. “Why shouldn’t I be?” She asked the question, not as a stall tactic as much as a diversion onto a particular course.

  “I tried to steal from you.”

  “Why?”

  “Just wanted some money and to see if I could.”

  “Well, you proved you could,” she began, “And if you wanted money, I provided an honest way for you to get it. I kind of thought you sounded bored, so I asked. I could do it myself with help from Chad now and then, but why not get it done faster in a way that benefits us both?” She could see that her logic made sense, but her application of it still didn’t fit in his personal system of ethics.

  “I like it. You have a cool place out here. When I was little, I wanted to be a farmer, but my parents stopped thinking that was cute when I turned eleven or so.”

  “What’s wrong with being a farmer?”

  Disdain dripped from Ryder’s words. “If you can’t get a degree in it, it isn’t worth doing. My parents are university snobs.”

  “So get a degree in horticulture, agriculture, or soil chemistry. Start a farm and develop newer and stronger seeds.”

  “They have degrees in farming?” Interest laced Ryder’s words despite an air of studied indifference.

  “Well, I don’t claim to be an expert, but I’ve read quite a few articles by people with BSAs.”

  “BSA?”

  Willow grinned and went to retrieve back issues of their Mother Earth News magazines. “Check it out. Bachelor of Science in Agriculture. Some have business management specialties, animal science, horticulture… The field is nearly limitless.”

  “I wonder…”

  Willow’s hand shot out and covered his. “Ryder, I’d never encourage someone to dishonor their parents. Once you’ve lost your only parent, you tend to treasure that relationship. However, if you can find a way to honor their desire for you to go to college and study something that interests you, I think you’d be happier.”

  His voice drooped and he leaned back pulling both hands behind his head. “Now if we can manage to get past the embarrassment factor for them, it might work.”

  “Embarrassment?”

  “Sure. An MBA, law degree, medical degree, research, even stockbroker would be fine, but tell their high-class friends that their son is getting a degree in hayseed? Not exactly something they’d want to admit.”

  Slack jawed, Willow shook her head. “I can’t comprehend that. Why would you be ashamed of a degree that helps you learn to feed the world in a more productive manner? How can you find it embarrassing to have a son who learns to utilize and maximize crop production, protect soils, and ensure that people actually eat?”

  “Maybe I’ll take a double major. Get a degree in accounting too. Accounting would be helpful for anyone.” Ryder stood and thanked her for the cocoa. “If I’m going to get that third rib done today, I’d better get out there. Thanks Ms. Finley.”

  At the door, Willow stopped him. “Ryder?”

  “Huh?”

  “If I get this farm going like I want next spring, I’ll have work for you during the summer if you’re interested.”

  January, 2001

  Willow has more energy than I’ll be able to contain on this little hobby farm of ours. While I enjoy the streamlined operation and lesser burden of work as she gets older and stronger, she needs more to do to keep her occupied. She asked about growing more alfalfa crops, but I assured her that once they were in the ground she’d still be without extra things to do until harvest and then there’d be more work at our busiest time.

  I don’t know how to direct her. If I stifle her, she’ll resent me. If I encourage her, we risk everything. I suggested she learn to master woodworking, but she’s clearly not interested. I’ve pushed her to make more quilts, paint more pictures, sew clothes, but she has a valid point. Where would we put them? I need to encourage her fishing, and I definitely need to order some new books. I need to find something that is both intellectually stimulating and yet not a burden to read. Meanwhile, I have Dorothy Sayers mysteries on the way.

  I suggested she take up speed running the other day. I explained how to mark off meters on the driveway and encouraged her to see how fast she could run the distances. She ran several races, beat her own time by several seconds, and then announced that it was good exercise, but she couldn’t see spending hours every day trying to determine if she could squeeze a fraction of a second off her score. I suspect, however, that part of her lack of interest had to do with soreness of breasts. I should have told her to wrap well with an ace bandage. However, the racing and time scores brought up discussion of triathlons and decathlons. Since then, she has been turning everything into bi, tri, quad, quint, sex, sept, oct, and dec prefaced words. For some reason, she simply skips “non.” We now have tri-meal-thons instead of three squares a day and anything else she can think of with those prefixes. I do wonder, however, if I should have used hept instead of sex. Her attempts to use that sound so awkward—and she is clueless, of course.

  Spring is busy; fall is busy. However, winter and part of summer—although much less so than winter—are fairly lazy times for us. While I don’t think Willow is itching to fill them with the hyper-busyness of modern society, I do think she is a more active person than I am, and it shows at t
imes like this.

  She has unraveled all of our holey socks and is using the wool to make strange little forest animals and creatures of her own fantasy worlds. Should I be concerned that my teenaged daughter has no interest in driving a car, going out with boys, going to prom, and has never had a mid-term paper due? Is it unforgivable that she doesn’t know these things are an option in her life? Is it terrible that I like her playing with her little animal creatures one moment and then debating de Tocqueville in the next? Is it too bizarre that she can survive, alone, for years in the wilderness but couldn’t navigate the streets of Rockland?

  Will I ever take her there? I mentioned it once a few months ago and her response was, “Why? I have everything I need here.”

  I suggested that someday she might like to see more of the world and she said, “Well, if you were talking about taking me to India or China, maybe, but I don’t see any reason to waste a perfectly good day going into a city that you avoid whenever possible. I’d rather fish.”

  Will she resent me when she realizes how wrong she was? When she discovers the Rockland Arts Center or the botanical gardens, will she wonder why I didn’t insist we go? Will she understand how deeply I dread that place and what a refuge our farm is to me? Can she possibly know the horror I feel as the skyline looms ahead of me as the bus rolls along that highway?