Past Forward Volume 1
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Volume One
Chautona Havig
Copyright 2012 Chautona Havig
Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chautona Havig lives in a small, remote town in California’s Mojave Desert with her husband and eight of her nine children. When not writing, she enjoys paper crafting, sewing, and trying to get the rest of her children educated so that she can retire from home education.
Fonts: Book Antiqua, Alex Brush, Trajan Pro, Bickham Script Pro.
Cover photos: AVGT/istockphoto.com and gradyreese/istockphoto.com
Cover Art: Chautona Havig
Edited by Barbara Coyle Editing
The events and people in this book, aside from the caveats on the next page, are purely fictional, and any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental and I’d love to meet them!
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All Scripture references are from the NASB. NASB passages are taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE (registered), Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation
Chapter One
A cool blast of air surprised Willow as she opened the police station door. A female officer smiled and waited to squeeze past her. “Chad is just around the corner fixing another pot of worthless coffee. He’ll be right with you.”
Without waiting for a response, the officer called, “Chad, citizen in the building. Don’t fight destiny for too long.”
Willow stood awkwardly at the counter clutching her tote bag in her hands and wishing she’d thought to stop at the mini-mart on the corner. Mother always did that. The restrooms had external entrances, and Mother used them to wash her hands and face and run a brush through hair that inevitably became windblown on the five-mile trek to town.
The officer striding toward her seemed to grow taller by the footstep. “May I help you?”
“I—Well, I don’t know if this is the right place to come but—”
“I’m Officer Tesdall—Chad. I’ll—”
Willow tried again, interrupting Chad Tesdall’s assurance that he’d help or find someone who could. “My mother is dead.”
“What?”
“I woke up this morning, and she wasn’t awake. She’s always awake before me, so I went to see if she was ill. She was too still and I smelled—” Willow blushed as she remembered that her mother didn’t like—hadn’t liked—to hear discussions of bodily functions. “Her hand—face—they were cold.”
For the first time, the reality of her loss overtook her. Willow covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Chad stared at the woman before him for a moment and then shouted for Chief Varney. “Chief! I need some help in here!”
The chief of police emerged from his office. He paused, sizing up the situation before asking, “What’s the problem?”
“Her mother is dea— has pass— is no longer with us,” he stammered awkwardly.
“Good grief, Chad, didn’t you learn how to do a sympathetic notification in the academy?”
Chad nodded watching as the chief brought Willow a chair and passed her a box of Kleenex. “She notified me, sir.”
“Did you kill your mother ma’am?” The chief’s confused and horrified voice would have been comical had the situation not been so awkward.
Willow fumbled with the Kleenex box as she dug a handkerchief from her tote bag and blew her nose. “Oh no! It’s just that I didn’t know what to do about it when I found her.” She sniffled again, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes on the back of her hand. “I’m not a very good carpenter, and I knew she’d need a coffin, so I haven’t dug the hole yet. I couldn’t bury her without a coffin—could I?”
Chief Varney and Chad stared at each other for a moment before the chief found his voice. “Um, no ma’am. That would have been illegal. You did the right thing coming here.”
“Oh good. Mother told me what to do about finances and things like that if something happened to her—way back when I was really little actually—but she didn’t say anything about the—” The woman swallowed hard. “—body.”
“Ma’am, what is your name?”
“Willow.” She folded her hands in her lap in an attempt to gain some control before tears swallowed her again. “Oh. Finley. Willow Finley.”
“And where do you live?”
“About five miles up the highway. We have a farm—”
The chief picked up the phone. “Chad, follow her out to her house, and I’ll meet you there. I want Darla with us.” He gave her what was likely meant to be a reassuring smile. In her estimation, it seemed more like a grimace. “I’m very sorry for your loss, miss. Officer Tesdall will escort you home and wait for the ambulance with you.”
“I don’t think an ambulance will do her any good now.” Both men looked at Willow sharply, but her expression was humorless.
Thirty minutes later, Chad and Willow rolled up the long driveway to the old farmhouse the Finley women called home. It had taken Chad, the chief, and the chief’s wife Darla to convince Willow that it was perfectly safe and acceptable to ride in a police car, or any car for that matter, especially under the circumstances. She’d proposed to walk and meet them at the farm but eventually capitulated when the chief opened the door and said, “Young lady, my men don’t have an hour or two to wait around while you mosey on home. Get in the car.”
“Cars are interesting,” she said after five miles of near silence, “but they make my stomach flop around—especially around the curves. I don’t think I’d want one, but that did get us here very quickly.”
Chad nodded, uncertain of what to say. Willow hadn’t said much in the short drive to her house, but what she had said made him believe
she’d never ridden in a car. “Perhaps it is just my driving. Do all cars make you feel ill?”
“I don’t know. We don’t own one, and as I told you—”
“‘Mother’ was very particular that you never get in a car with anyone for any reason. Got it.”
The house surprised him. After her comments about building coffins and digging holes, Chad had expected a ramshackle place not fit to inhabit. Instead, the old farmhouse was in excellent repair with fresh paint and a well-groomed lawn surrounding it. A collie rounded the back of the house barking furiously and somewhere nearby chickens squawked.
“You have a very nice house, Miss Finley.” He glanced in the rear view mirror. “I see the ambulance coming.”
“I’d better go unlock the door then. Thank you for the drive. I enjoyed it.”
Chad followed Willow, watching as she patted the dog, calling him Othello, and then disappeared into the house. Inside, he found her pulling out teacups, juice glasses, and tumblers. She looked up at him confused. “How many do I need?”
“How many what?”
“I was going to make tea for everyone but we only have two teacups—” Her hand shook as she picked it up to demonstrate. A second later, it crashed against a matching saucer, shattering both into miniscule pieces.
Quiet tears flowed this time as she cleaned up the remains of the cup. As though confirming that she was all alone, the single whole teacup stood aside from the other drinkware. Chad assumed that she’d never drink from that cup again.
“There’s just the four of us—well, and the two guys in the ambulance, but no one expects—”
The kettle whistle interrupted him. The heat in the room was unbearably hot—stifling really—but she seemed oblivious to it. A breeze, cool in comparison to the kitchen, ruffled curtains at the window. Can’t she turn on the AC?
Paramedics pulled the gurney down the steep stairs and through the living room, trying to spare her the sight of her mother being loaded into the vehicle. The chief entered the kitchen with his wife who sniffled slightly.
“Oh, Miss Finley—”
She stared at the woman, eyes darting back and forth between the chief, Chad, and the chief’s wife. Her eyes widened. “Oh—me. I’m sorry; I’m not used to being called that, and it doesn’t feel like me. My name is Willow.”
“Willow,” Darla Varney continued, “you made her look so nice. The flowers… they were fresh too, weren’t they?”
“Yes,” Willow said simply. “I thought she’d like that.”
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, the chief suggested they sit at the table. “Miss—um, Willow, do you have your mother’s birth certificate? Is there family we can call for you or—”
“Excuse me. Mother had an envelope in the firebox. I’ll get it.”
Minutes later, Willow returned with a beautifully decorated but otherwise ordinary manila envelope, letter sized. The cover was marked, “Family Records,” and inside they found Kari Anne Finley’s birth certificate, a notarized affidavit of Willow’s birth, and a list of addresses for next of kin. The last things they pulled from the envelope were a life insurance policy, naming Willow as beneficiary, and Kari’s will.
“No birth certificate for Willow?” Mrs. Varney stared at the young woman in disbelief.
“I was born here. Mother said she didn’t know how to file a regular birth certificate and wasn’t sure she wanted to, so she entered my birth in her Bible and had that paper notarized that she signed the facts of the situation.”
“They can’t do that can they? Notarize information on a birth?” Chad’s face showed confusion.
“They can’t now, but before the Patriot Act, probably—either that or the notary didn’t know any better.” Chief Varney’s voice sounded distant as he read the documents. When finished, he looked up at Willow, compassion exuding from him. “Willow, do you know the contents of these documents? Do you know where the financial records are?”
Willow nodded. “My mother was always very forthright about my birth and the circumstances around it. I also knew from a very young age what to do if she died or was seriously injured.”
“I need to show this to the M.E., but I’ll get it back to you a-sap.”
“I don’t understand M.E. and a-sap. What do those mean?”
Three faces stared at her in disbelief for a moment before Chad spoke. “M.E. stands for Medical Examiner. She was so young that they’ll want to see what killed her. It could be hereditary, and you’d want to know. A-sap is an acronym for “as soon as possible.”
“I see. I have copies of all of it upstairs. You can keep those. Mother was very thorough. Whom should I speak to about the financial arrangements? I think I understand what to do, but I’d like to make sure. Mr. Franklin’s visit isn’t due for another eight months.”
Chief Varney’s attention focused on the name. “Who is Mr. Franklin?”
“William Franklin is Mother’s financial advisor.”
“Did your mother leave you well situated, Willow?” Mrs. Varney seemed unable to resist asking.
“I don’t know. I think I’ll have enough to live on, though. Mother always said I would.”
Darla Varney stared at her husband in shock. Willow seemed unconcerned for her welfare. From a legal standpoint, she didn’t exist, and furthermore, she didn’t seem to realize it. “What does this mean for her exactly?”
“She’ll be fine, Darla. This is unusual but not insurmountable.” He smiled reassuringly at Willow and asked, “Do you have Mr. Franklin’s phone number? Perhaps I can get him to make a visit to go over things with you.”
Willow stood wordlessly for a moment, before disappearing upstairs again. She returned several minutes later carrying a large, somewhat heavy, fireproof safe. “Everything is in here. What should I look for?” She glanced up at the chief and said, “But I don’t see what good it will do; Mr. Franklin only comes in April.”
Chad opened the top of the safe and pulled out a packet of papers. It was another carefully decorated envelope labeled, Taxes, 2001. He flipped through the packets, each elaborately embellished with artistry of some kind, and found one marked, Franklin’s Financial Services as the title.
“Found it. May I?”
At Willow’s nod, Chad slipped the contents from the envelope and smiled at the coversheet. “Where’s your phone?”
“We don’t have one. I’ll have to walk to town and call. That’s what Mother always did if she needed him.”
Chad frowned and glanced at the chief, before sliding open his cell phone and handing it to Willow. “Here you go.”
Willow took the phone and stared at it. “What do I do with it?”
“You’ve never seen a phone?” the three exclaimed in nearly perfect unison.
“I’ve seen one. I know what it is and how it works, but I’ve never used one. Would you mind using it for me?”
Chad, unsettled by the idea that someone so young had never used a cell phone—had never used any phone—nodded. “Sure.” He dialed the number and spoke to William Franklin’s office manager. At the mention of Kari and Willow Finley, he found himself talking to Mr. Franklin. “Yes sir, I’m Officer Tesdall, and I’m at Miss Finley’s farmhouse. We’re not quite sure what to do with her—well yes, I realize that sir, I just meant legally and—just a minute.”
Chad handed the phone to Willow. “He wants to talk to you. Put this part up by your ear—be careful though, it might be loud—and hold this part by your mouth. Don’t press any buttons though.”
Willow attempted to hold the phone correctly, but found it difficult to manipulate. “It’s too short. I must have a longer jaw than you. If I put this up by my ear, the mouth part is on my cheek—”
“It’ll work, trust me.”
The Varneys and Chad listened as Willow assured Mr. Franklin that she’d walked to town and requested help from the officer and that she was fine. “I asked them what to do about the finances and they suggested I call you. It’s not time for
taxes, so I don’t know why—oh.”
A minute later, she passed the phone back to Chad awkwardly. “I don’t know how to turn it off, but it clicked and Mr. Franklin said goodbye. He’ll drive over Thursday and help me with funeral arrangements and whatever else needs to be done. I think I’m fine now.”
Feeling somewhat dismissed, Chief Varney, his wife, and Chad offered their sympathies once more and rose from the table. She followed them through the living room to the front porch. Just as the chief and his wife stepped onto the grass, Willow spoke again. “My mother always said that I might someday want to live differently than she did. She told me never to let her choices dictate my life if I didn’t want them.”
“Your mother was a wise woman. She knew how to keep her daughter from rejecting her,” Darla mused with a smile.
Willow continued as though uninterrupted. “Mother didn’t care to be around people, but it was nice to have someone, even—” Willow swallowed carefully and tried again. “I hope you will visit again sometime. If I know ahead of time, I’ll cook something, but I don’t have enough dishes so you’d have to bring your own.”
Darla smiled and nodded. “We will. I promise.”
Chad stood with one foot on the first step until the chief and his wife backed around and drove down the driveway. “Have you really never had visitors here?”
“Only Mr. Franklin. Mother either ignored other people or came out with the shotgun—whichever seemed more appropriate.”
“I’ve heard of your mom, I think, but people said she lived on the other side of the lake. I always thought this place was abandoned.” He smiled at her. “You know, I’d come visit, but I have no way of calling to see if you’re home—”
“I’m always home,” she interjected.
“Well, you might not be now…”
Willow shook her head. “There’s too much work to do to be traipsing all over the place. I’ll be home. Come by anytime. If I’m busy, I’ll tell you to go home, you can talk to me while I work, or I’ll put you to work.”
Halfway to his car, Chad did an about face and returned to the porch. “If I got you a prepaid cell phone, would you use it?”
Past Forward Volume 1 Page 1
