Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 2

by Chautona Havig

  Today I speculate. Tomorrow I’ll trust again. I’ll pray that the Lord softens her heart if the day ever comes when I no longer feel the need to protect her from the evilness around. Some would say I’ve tried to create a utopia where sin never enters. How foolish the thought. Every day I see more plainly my weaknesses, failures, and sins. This little world of ours seems to magnify them and keep them from those dark secret places I had as a child. Where I hid my failures from my mother, she shares hers with me. We’re open about the selfish and prideful thoughts that fill our minds, the anger that wells in our hearts, and the lies. She doesn’t struggle with that as much as I do. She lies to herself, but rarely has she ever lied to me. She’s been much too honest at times, but I’ve never discouraged it. I, on the other hand, have much to conceal and therefore tend to deceive rather than speak honestly when I don’t care to share. How wrong of me.

  Pride is our common sin. We both think too highly of ourselves than we ought. We flip-flop across the line separating arrogance and self-righteousness from false modesty. When we stay on the path, we do well. When we flop, it’s rarely on the false modesty side of pride and when it is, it’s usually me. That deception thing again. It shows among our other sins as well, I guess.

  Willow informed me that the wise men have reached Cyprus and will manage to reach Jerusalem by February fifth. I am so pleased. They had me worried there for a moment. Those dratted wise men never leave early enough for my taste. If they had arrived when modern storytellers pretend, fewer babies would have needed to be slaughtered. Yep. They should have listened to me. Hmmm. I think that pride thing is rearing its ugly head again. Time to quit writing and start scrubbing—something.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  “What are you doing here!” Willow’s voice sounded more pleased than confused.

  “I go in at ten, but at seven I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep so I decided to come out here.” He glanced above her doorway, sighed, and kissed her cheek. “Mind?”

  “Well, I shouldn’t since I put it up there.”

  “No, silly,” he protested laughing. Do you mind me intruding on your Christmas Eve?” The pile of journals on the floor by the couch told him he’d interrupted a memory fest.

  “Oh, I thought you meant the mistletoe. Of course you’re welcome!”

  “Just a second, I forgot something.” Chad hurried to his truck, brought several presents into the house, and stuffed them under the tree.

  “You created beautiful packages!”

  “Not really. Melba Torquin wrapped them. She’s a bit steep, but it helps supplement her income and keeps her in heat during the winter, so quite a lot of us take our packages to her house.”

  Chad hunkered down on his heels and read the tags on Willow’s gifts. He finally found the one with his name. “It’s either a copy of your mother’s journals or a book you think I should read. The shape gives it away.”

  “I’m not saying anything more other than that you’re wrong on both accounts.”

  Chad shrugged off his work coat and stuffed his gloves in the pockets. His belt he hung next to them and then offered to heat some cider. At the kitchen doorway, he turned back to her. “What’s with all the mistletoe? There wasn’t any yesterday.”

  “I just put it up a bit ago. I wanted your parents to feel at home.” She looked a little nervous about what that might mean to the Tesdalls.

  “Willow, they’re not going to make out in the middle of your living room. No worries.”

  “Make out?”

  With a shake of his head, he refocused on heating cider for them. How do you explain making out to someone with no concept of why you’d want to do it in the first place? A thought crossed his mind. He stood in the doorway and waited for her to notice him there.

  “Making out. Definition. Smashed lips leading to lip lock and then culminating in swapping spit and finally tonsil hockey. Often includes various methods of cuddling that I’d rather not get into right now.”

  “Kissing. Got it.” A silent pause followed and Chad nearly burned his hand when her voice called out from the living room, “Did you really just say swapping spit?”

  He carried mugs to the couch and handed her one. “In older vernacular, yes.”

  “I thought old was smooch.”

  “Do you really want to sit here and discuss the sixty-six terms for kissing in the English language?”

  Her eyes widened in amazement. “Are there really sixty-six—”

  “Oh hush, and drink your cider. What are you doing tonight?”

  “You just told me to hush,” she protested laughing. “I can’t do that and answer your questions at the same time.”

  He smiled at her. “I missed you.”

  “I saw you last night.”

  “For ten minutes max.”

  Her brow furrowed, she leaned closer to him, sending his panic buttons into overdrive. As he floundered for a way to get out of an intimate situation, Willow sniffed his cider. “Doesn’t smell fermented but…”

  “Oh, knock it off. I’ve hardly seen you since Wednesday, and we’ve kind of gotten to be a nice habit of mine.”

  Willow set down her mug and crawled across his foot to grab his present from under the tree. “Here. It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “I’ll be here before Mom and Dad are!”

  A pleading look filed her eyes. “I think I’d rather you open it now if you would.”

  Chad grinned. “Good answer.” Reaching under the tree, he pulled his gift from the pile and handed it to her. “Open yours. I think you’ll like having quiet to enjoy it anyway.”

  She held her gift waiting for him to open his. “Go on. I’m getting impatient now.”

  Chad carefully fastened the edges of paper and folded it beside him. Inside the box, in a thick bed of quilt batting, the fly case lay, reflecting the firelight of the candles all around him. “Oh, Willow…”

  “I thought maybe you’d like something for your apartment, but I didn’t think you’d want something stitched and my painting skills for masculine things are very primitive.”

  “Did you make this case?”

  “Mother did. For my sixteenth birthday. I thought about buying something for the flies, but I wanted you to have a piece of Mother too.”

  His heart filled with emotions he wasn’t ready to decipher. He leaned across the couch, hugged her tightly, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Willow nodded. “There is a condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  With sly smile, she nudged his knee. “You have to actually use them—preferably with me.”

  “Deal. Open mine.”

  She teased the bow, ran her fingers over the smoothness of the metallic paper, and in short, drove him crazy as she enjoyed the textures of the package. At last, taking pity on Chad before he burst, Willow released the tape on one end and slid a box from its wrappings. She lifted the lid, folded back sheets and sheets of tissue paper, and lifted the dulcimer from within.

  “Oh, Chad! Where did you find—how did you— What—”

  “Actually, there’s kind of an embarrassing story behind that dulcimer.”

  “Embarrassing to you?”

  Chad nodded. “Yep.”

  “Let’s hear it,” she demanded impishly.

  “Be nice,” he growled. “I was thinking about the instrument thing after we talked that night, and I decided that now was a perfect time to learn one, so I went online and found—”

  “You’re going to have to show me the online thing. I’m really sick of Alexa’s book.”

  Chad chuckled and continued, ignoring the interruption. “—the perfect dulcimer. The pictures were beautiful. It said, ‘assembly required,’ but I didn’t think anything of it. I thought, pegs and strings and stuff. It arrived in precut pieces.”

  “You made this?”

  “Assembled it. Yep. I went to Luke’s a few times when I should have been sleeping, and he instructed me. I kind of hoped he’d take over a
nd do it for me like he did when we were little, but I guess he figured that game out.”

  Her fingers plucked the strings. “Oh it’s horribly out of tune. I wonder how to make them sound right.”

  Chad rifled through a few of the packages and pulled two out that looked nearly the same size. “Sorry. I don’t know which one goes with that. I didn’t think to tell her to mark it some way other than your name.”

  Even as he spoke, she slowly tightened strings until a better sound, however off key it still was, resonated from the instrument as she plucked it. For several minutes she plucked, tuned, plinked, and tuned some more. By the time she was finished, the strings plinked harmoniously if not in the exact notes it was designed to play.

  “I love it. How did you know I’ve always wanted a dulcimer?”

  “I didn’t,” he confessed. “I just tried to think of what instrument fit you and your life, and a dulcimer did.”

  Her hands fingered the smooth surface of the instrument. “It’s so beautiful…”

  Chad put his case back under the tree, retrieved the dulcimer and placed it under there with the other gifts, reached for her Bible and handed it to her. “Your turn.”

  “For what?”

  “To read Luke.”

  Willow’s eyes filled as she took the Bible. “But I never—”

  “You can’t read any worse than I do.”

  “I don’t. I’m a much better reader actually. I’ve just never—”

  Chad laughed at the expression on her face as she realized what she’d said. “It’s ok, I know I’m not very good at it.”

  “Mother always read,” she explained. “I don’t think I’ve ever read the Christmas story aloud.”

  A fresh wave of understanding washed over Chad. He settled himself comfortably in the corner of the couch, and beckoned her. “Come here. I’ll help.”

  She offered him the Bible as she slid across the cushions, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he pulled her close, rested his hands on her shoulders, and encouraged her once more. “Go on, read it.”

  “I—”

  Chad’s voice, low and soothing, urged her. “Come on. It’s not Christmas Eve without it.”

  She read, punctuating every other sentence with a sob, a sniffle, or the choked sound of her voice trying not to sob or sniffle. It was truly the most endearing and horrible reading of the passage Chad had ever heard. As she finished, he enveloped her in a warm hug. “I’m proud of you.”

  She relaxed, weeping occasionally until the clock chimed a quarter till ten. “You’ve got to go.”

  He nodded, stood, and donned his gun belt, jacket, and gloves. “Get some sleep if you can.”

  “I’m glad you came, Chad. It’s like my first Christmas without any family, but family is still here. Not everyone has that blessing.”

  He crossed the floor, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed the top of her head. “Well this family isn’t going to stand for you being alone on Christmas. We’re funny that way.”

  “Merry Christmas, Chad.”

  At the door, he turned, laid his finger aside of his nose, winked, and shut the door behind him. Her laughter reached him outside when she heard his voice cry out, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

  Chad unlocked Willow’s back door and slipped into the kitchen, using his flashlight to find the lamp on the table. Just as he’d expected, cookies and a note sat on the table.

  Dear Chad Santa,

  I didn’t think cookies made a very filling dinner, so I left a glass of milk and a sandwich in the icebox. I hope your sleigh is warm and you can visit me again in the morning. I have company I think you’d enjoy.

  Love, Willow

  P.S. I was a good girl this year. Well, except for the itching powder in Mother’s bed to drive Chad crazy. Shh. Don’t tell.

  As he inhaled the enormous roast beef sandwich, Chad reread the note, laughing to himself as he folded it and stashed it in his pocket. He rinsed his dishes and crept through the house, up the stairs, and into Willow’s room. Moonlight streamed through the window illuminating her face as she slept.

  His heart constricted. As much as he tried to be family to her, he was still an inadequate replacement for her mother. As much as his parents loved and invested in her, they’d never be her parents. Perhaps he’d been wrong to be wary of the Finleys and the Solaris. Chad leaned against her dresser, munched on his cookie, and watched her sleep as he prayed.

  Lord, I don’t know what to do. I’m torn. She needs someone here. It’s not that I’m immune to her, but I’m not in love with her either—I don’t think. It seems so wrong to marry someone and not love them like that. Then again, it seems wrong to leave her alone so much. I practically live here, and yet I don’t. I’d ask her about it, but it’s not something you want to bring up carelessly. ‘Marry me and then I can sleep over.’ Yeah. That makes sense. I can’t even think about—He swallowed hard. I’m human, Lord!

  A strand of hair escaped from her braid, slipping down her cheek. Chad smoothed it back behind her ear before turning toward the door. “Did you find your sandwich?” she murmured sleepily.

  Chad jumped. He glanced back at Willow, but she showed no sign of consciousness. “It was good, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered.

  The scent of coffee woke Willow. Throwing her robe over her shoulders, she dashed downstairs. “Chad! What time is it?”

  “Seven. Animals are covered. Just drinking a coffee before I crawl into your mother’s bed until Mom and Dad get here.”

  She shooed him upstairs with a glass of milk in hand. “You don’t need coffee if you’re going to sleep.” At the end of the hall, between the two bedrooms, she pointed to her bed. “I just changed my sheets yesterday, but I slept on them. It’s warm though—if you want to climb in. I’m going to start baking pies as soon as I get dressed…”

  She chattered as she grabbed her clothes and hustled from the room, dumping his duffle on the bed. He stared at it in surprise. “How’d you?”

  “You taught me to be observant. Go to sleep. You’ve got about three hours before your parents get here. Sleep!”

  Chad grabbed his sweats and lumbered to the bathroom. He was tired. This was nearly the equivalent of a triple shift, and he knew he’d be wiped by dinnertime. Once changed, he glanced at her room and then Kari’s. He felt strange taking her bed. What if she got tired? She might not feel like resting on her mother’s bed. Mind made up, he pulled back the covers to Kari’s bed and slipped his feet under cold sheets. His head craned around the doorframe and glimpsed the rumpled warmth of Willow’s bed. Seconds later, he snuggled under her flannel sheets with the shades pulled down and room darkened. As he drifted to sleep, the relaxing cool scent of lavender wisped around him.

  For the next three hours, Willow baked rolls, pecan pie, and caramel apple pie. Fresh batches of sugar cookies were ready to go in the oven immediately after lunch, and mulled apple cider simmered on the stove. She heard car wheels crunch on the driveway and hurried out to meet Chad’s parents.

  “Hi! I’m so glad you came,” she called, waving.

  “If we can’t have family at Christmas one way, we’ll do it another!” Marianne insisted as she gave Willow a hug. “Don’t you look lovely? That sweater—tell me you didn’t make it.”

  “I didn’t. Mother did two years ago.” Willow’s hands ran lightly over the sleeves.

  “That pattern is pretty.”

  “Thank you. Would you like to stretch your legs and see the barn and the animals or are you ready to get inside and have some cider?”

  Christopher pointed to the greenhouse frame. “What’s going there?”

  “That’s my new greenhouse. I have a boy from town helping me assemble it. He’s been a great help.”

  “Ryder—the one who broke in, right? I couldn’t believe you did that,” Marianne said shaking her head at Christopher. “Leave the packages, we’ll get them when we’re done out here.”
>
  As she led them into the barn, Christopher asked questions that confused her until she realized they were related to his job—how she kept the animal smell down, what she fed them, how she processed milk and stored eggs. Outside, she showed them the pens, the coop, and even took them around the back to her “swing tree” and down to the alfalfa field. “That field…” she marked off the perimeter with her hands, “is what Chad mowed for me.” She swallowed the lump that grew in her throat. “I would have died if he hadn’t been such a pest about that phone. I would have died if he hadn’t brought it back here that first day.”

  “Chad was so worried about you during that time. He called and prayed with us daily.”

  Marianne’s words struck a special chord in Willow’s heart. “He’s a good friend. I am blessed to know him—all of you really. Today would be a very horrible day without you here.”

  Christopher cleared his throat and said, “Let’s see the chickens. Chad says you let them roam around outside even as cold as it is.”

  Willow led them back up the hill, around the barn, past the mulched garden plot and to the chicken yard. “Looks like about half of them are out at the moment. They come in and out as they please until nighttime or if it gets too cold.” She winked at the Tesdalls. “Then I treat them like children and make them do what I think is best.”

  Saige trotted past the chicken yard, a rabbit in her mouth. She ordered the dog to take it behind the barn and turned to the Tesdalls, shaking her head. “If I don’t make her eat them back there, I get entrails strewn everywhere.”

  Around the house she pointed out her flowerbeds and lilac bushes, and from the porch, she pointed at the lone oak tree. “Mother is out there. If you care for a walk after lunch, I recommend going to see. Chad’s headstones are beautiful.”

  “Headstones? Plural?”

  “He made one for my dog too. Othello just didn’t seem to care to live without Mother. He died soon after she did.”