“What about Mommy!”
“Mommy could cook, but not like this. Except for brownies. No one makes better brownies.”
Appeased, Ellie gleefully enjoyed the rest of her meal in silence. Cookies disappeared equally rapidly followed by large glasses of milk. Tavish brought his dishes to the sink and commented, “I think your milk might be going bad. It tasted different somehow.”
Willow poured a bit into a glass and tasted it. “Tastes normal to me. I’ll ask Chad if Ditto is nibbling on the straw. Maybe we should give her alfalfa for straw.”
“This is milk from your goat!” Laird’s face looked positively ill.
“Of course. Where else would I get milk on this farm?”
“Isn’t that—unsanitary?” Tavish questioned, staring at the glass Willow drained.
“I’ve been drinking this milk all of my life. Have you ever drunk milk from your Uncle Zeke’s cows?”
“Well yeah—” Laird began.
“What’s the difference? We both have clean barns, clean animals, clean kitchens, and clean milk pans—”
“But goats? They’re like—not cows.” Ellie’s logic, while faulty, was comical nonetheless.
“Well,” Willow said finally. “Drink my milk or don’t drink any. I don’t really care. Go brush your teeth.”
Ellie’s eyes widened and stared at Laird who slipped from the room. Tavish shrugged and followed. After a few steps to the door, she came and stared up at Willow. “Are you mad at us?”
“Mad? Why?”
“You sounded upset about the milk.”
“I’m not upset. If you don’t like it, don’t drink it. I really don’t care.”
The child’s eyes searched her face for something… and found it. “You mean that. Wow.”
Just after one o’clock, Chad followed the sound of Willow’s dulcimer to the kitchen. There in her rocking chair, Willow plucked the notes to “Blowin’ in the Wind,” humming along as she played. With his back to the living room wall opposite her, he stood listening as she struggled for some notes and played others confidently. Once done with the verse, she started over, this time making no mistakes at all, letting the notes drift into silence as they reverberated through the room, and died.
“Beautiful.”
Willow’s head whipped up but she didn’t see him anywhere. “Chad?”
His head peeked around the corner. “Smells good too.”
“Hungry?” she asked, carrying her instrument to the bookshelf by the window and laying it gently on top.
“Starving. Where are the kids?”
“Outside somewhere. I’m guessing ice skates, zip line, or maybe they took the sled up the hill without you.”
As he accepted a bowl of chili, Chad asked with as much nonchalance as he could muster, “How did it go with their schoolwork? Will they be done soon?”
“They were done by eleven. We skated for a while. I had fun with them.”
“Done? How did they get done so quickly?”
She shrugged. “They seemed to act like it was normal. I checked their answers, and they got everything right as far as I could tell.”
“They didn’t have access to the answer keys did they?”
“No. I put those up in the library closet. It seemed silly to mess with them when the work is stuff I already know.”
Unable to argue with her logic, Chad buttered his cornbread and said nothing more. Maybe Aggie had assigned a light schedule to make things easier on Willow. It sounded like the kind of thing he’d suggest if he was leaving for a couple of weeks and near strangers were going to be educating his children.
“Can we get the education discussion over?” she asked tentatively. “I have work to do on the invitations, but—”
“Willow, you’re not going to get out of this marriage that easily.”
“I’m not trying—”
“Maybe not,” he conceded, “but it’s hard not to wonder when a new obstacle arrives every week or two. At this point, I’m committed. I’m not giving up on this regardless of what new problem you discover.”
“But we do have to consider these things. We can’t go into a marriage if we’re going to disagree—”
“Yes we can,” he argued, “and we will.” Chad pushed his plate away from him and folded his hands slowly and deliberately. “At some point, now would be good, you’re going to have to trust me and the Lord with some of this stuff. You can’t plan every aspect of your life years in advance. As admirable as your orderliness and schedules are, they are also a crutch.”
“Chad!”
Every word he spoke was clear, calm, and oh so very calculatedly calm and distinct. He waited for her to sit in her chair, relax, and then continued. “I know you want me to promise I’ll do this your way. I know you want assurance that everything will fall into every piece of your carefully calculated puzzle, but I can’t and I won’t. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
“But—”
“I promised—” he continued, ignoring her interruption, “that I wouldn’t lead you where you weren’t ready to go, and I won’t. You’re going to have to trust that and trust that the Lord is guiding both of us.”
The living room clock chimed but Willow didn’t speak. The kettle whistled and Chad mixed him some coffee, and still she sat silent. Finally, with honesty she hadn’t shown with herself, Willow admitted, “I don’t know if I’m ready to follow Jesus if it means away from what I know.”
“You have a habit of that—lying about things like that.”
“What!”
“Just a few days ago, I heard you singing, ‘Where He leads me I will follow, all the way… Follow Jesus every day.’ You did that before—about something. Hymns are prayers, affirmations—not quite the same as vows perhaps—but nearly so. You sang you’d follow Him, and when He asks you to trust Him to only lead you where He wants you to go, you balk because you have no guarantees it’s where you want to go.”
“Will you go away?”
Chad misunderstood and sighed. “I didn’t think you were a quitter. I foolishly thought you cared, if not about me, about our friendship. I—”
“Chad?”
“What?”
“Be quiet.” The dumbstruck look on his face nearly sent her into a fit of giggles. “I didn’t say leave forever and don’t come back. I said go away. I need time to work this out. I need quiet. I need you to go away.”
Chad pushed back his chair, kissed her temple, grabbed his jacket, and left. Willow stared at the back door, as it swung shut gently. “What is with him and the constant kisses lately?”
To be continued…
Alone without friends or family to comfort her after the death of her mother, Willow Finley’s idyllic life is over—and just beginning.
Follow Willow as she learns to blend her old life with the new, experiences things she’s only read about, and makes the first friends she’s ever had. Living as if in the past, her life is moving forward.
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Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Episode 11 Page 9
