Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  Willow heard the door slam and glanced out her window. Chad’s vehicle zipping down the driveway in reverse confused her. “It looks like his truck is broken. It won’t even go forward!” she mused as she donned her favorite pajamas and slid under the covers. For just a moment, the temptation to turn on the electricity and use a fan while she slept tickled her senses, but weariness slowly overtook her, assuring her that she wouldn’t miss it once she fell asleep.

  Chapter Four

  Early Saturday morning, Willow was weeding the garden when the phone in her pocket rang, sending Othello into a barking fit. A minister, Tom Allen, asked for clarification on Monday’s service, and by the time she turned the phone off, Willow was unnerved. She’d forgotten that she needed to dig a hole for the coffin, not to mention that she needed to decide where she’d bury her mother in the first place.

  She replaced the trowel and hoe, and retrieved the pickaxe and shovel. Suddenly, she knew where she’d bury her mother. Her mother’s favorite oak stood tall, proud, but alone—not far from the highway and the entrance to the drive. Willow would bury her mother there.

  She wore her gardening hat, work gloves, and a loose billowy long sleeved white shirt over jeans, keeping her hair stuffed under her hat. It was almost nine as she began digging. Her jug of water sat untouched for the first hour, but her thirst eventually demanded that she drink.

  The queasy feeling was familiar. Mother had taught her not to guzzle her water after working hard and getting overheated, and now she worked feeling hot, tired, and sick to her stomach. Oddly, it was a welcome relief.

  By eleven, she sobbed as she dug. Her work slowed, her muscles grew tired, and her back ached almost as much as her heart. Hot tears poured down her cheeks, making strange paths on her dusty face. Every minute—every second—tortured her. Even so, it was also cathartic. With each shovelful of dirt that she tossed from the growing hole, she felt that somehow she could finally measure her loss in tangible terms. Every cubic inch of dirt represented dozens of memories that she now, like Mary in Bethlehem, treasured in her heart.

  Willow drank as she watched Chad’s truck bouncing over her lane and recapped her jug. She’d forgotten he was coming, and realized he might expect lunch. He could forget it. She didn’t know how long it took to dig such a large hole, but she wasn’t about to be digging on Monday morning.

  Chad rounded the barn, followed the line of trees to the open field that ran alongside the driveway until he reached the oak. Willow stood almost knee high in a hole, shoveling dirt out between pauses to wipe away her tears. The sight of a slight woman like Willow carving out a place in the earth to rest her mother’s body twisted his heart. Guilt washed over him as he remembered his internal complaining regarding visits. He didn’t want a friend. Well, that wasn’t true. He loved people and did want friends. He just didn’t want this friend. He didn’t want to be her confidant or her crying post.

  She didn’t want to be left alone to dig her own mother’s grave, but she’s doing it. How pathetic can you be, Tesdall? he growled to himself as he reached the side of the grave.

  “Willow?”

  The answer came in the form of a pile of dirt on his polished shoes and a streak across the hemline of his uniform. He tried again, and when he received the same answer, Chad jumped down into the hole and wrapped his hands around the handle of the shovel. “Willow. Let go.”

  At the sight of Willow’s face, he pulled the shovel from her hands and wrapped his arms around her. “Come on… let’s go cry it out inside. It’s hot out here.”

  “I have to get this done…”

  Without another word, Chad pulled her from the hole and led her back to the house. In the kitchen, he handed her a glass of water and pointed to the stairs. “Go take a shower. I’ll make you something to eat.”

  “I forgot to defrost anything, so a salad—”

  “Go. I’ll take care of lunch.”

  After a look in the cupboards, the cellar icebox, and the summer kitchen, Chad whipped out his cell phone and raced to his truck. By the time he arrived with two sandwiches and pasta salads in hand, Willow lay curled on her bed with obvious traces of tears on her face.

  “I brought food. Do you want it up here or…”

  She glanced at him horrified and then smiled. “Lunch in bed and I’m not even sick!”

  They ate an impromptu picnic on her bed, she sitting against the headboard, he cross-legged on the floor leaning against her closet. Halfway through her sandwich, Willow commented, “I saw you got your truck fixed.”

  “Fixed?” he murmured with a mouthful of pasta salad.

  “You drove it forward instead of backward today. Was it hard to fix?”

  Chad choked on his salad as he laughed. Between chortles, he coughed and sputtered trying to expel the noodle from his windpipe. Willow’s confused expression helped him regain a little composure. “The truck wasn’t broken, Willow, I just backed up the driveway instead of turning around. It went forward again once I put it in gear at the highway.”

  “Oh, how interesting. I’ll have to read about how vehicles work. I always meant to, but I just never got around to it. I guess I could have asked Mother. She drove a car before she moved here.”

  A glance at his watch told Chad it was time to go. “Gotta go to work. I’ll call the guys at the hardware store and have them send out a backhoe to finish digging for you.”

  At the door, Willow laid a hand on Chad’s arm. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to do it, and I wasn’t looking forward to spending most of my Sunday digging. As it is, I’ll be sore as a stubbed toe in the morning.”

  Her phone rang ten minutes later. “The phone says it is Chad. Is that right?”

  A familiar chuckle told her she was correct before his voice came over the phone. “Hello, Willow. You have a very unique way of answering the phone.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing wrong with it, it’s just unique. Most people say ‘hello’ first. Anyway, I wondered if you’d like to come to church tomorrow. I could pick you up at nine forty-five…”

  Several seconds passed before she said, “Thanks, but I don’t think so. Maybe next week.”

  The road crunched beneath her feet the next morning as Willow turned off the highway onto the road into Fairbury. The sidewalk muffled her stride, and at the convenience store, she changed into her best sandals, brushed her hair, and set off again for the church. Yet another first awaited her.

  Inside, chattering people filled the auditorium. She smiled and nodded to those she passed, exchanged “good mornings,” and pushed forward, hoping to sit near the front. However, the front pews were full. The left side of the church also seemed full (if Bibles and purses were any indication), but on the right, near the far right of center, there seemed to be a large area of empty places, causing Willow to wonder if they were reserved for a group—a choir perhaps.

  A woman wearing a lovely hat and a dress her mother would have loved whispered, “Excuse me. I’m Alexa. Would you like to sit with me?”

  The song leader took the podium several minutes later. Pastor Allen sat off to the side, his eyes roaming the room. He gave Willow a welcoming smile. As the opening song began, and he saw the horrified look on Willow’s face, he burst into laughter. Just as he regained control, the congregation split between those who were confused and those who’d either seen or guessed the cause. Alexa stepped from the row and slipped forward a few rows, smiling encouragingly at Willow as she did.

  Now the entire congregation erupted in titters until Troy, the song leader gave up and signaled for the pianist to cease. Pastor Allen took the podium and apologized. “I am so terribly sorry. I can’t—Alexa, I—” He swallowed hard. “… and our guest! Please forgive me!”

  After the morning singing concluded and the sermon began, Willow crept forward and sat next to the young woman again. The sermon was shorter than she expected, but interesting. At the end of the final song, she turned to her seatmate a
nd smiled. “I apologize. I think I embarrassed you.”

  Laughing, Alexa shook her head with mock ruefulness. “Not at all! As you’ve noticed, there is usually a wide berth around me.”

  “You have amazing volume. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  A few people nearby chuckled as they overheard her enthusiastic compliment. Alexa’s laughter increased. “I’ve tried to learn to sing more quietly, but I can’t. It’s either not sing at all or sing and terrify animals and small children.”

  Chad met them at the edge of the pew. “You’re here! I thought you said—”

  “I changed my mind.”

  It didn’t take long for him to introduce her to half of the church. Pastor Allen offered his condolences and promised to arrive early the next day. Several people assured her that they’d bring food the following week, but Willow shook her head at each one. “Thanks, but I don’t have room for more food.”

  With just under two hours until he began his shift, Chad finally ushered her out the door and toward the deli, saying, “I’m going to feed you and then drive you home, and I’ve got just over an hour to get it done.”

  Willow wandered to her favorite spot beside the stream that ran across the back of their property. The chickens were fed and locked in their house, the cow’s trough full to the brim and would last her until morning, and Wilhelmina munched contentedly on her fresh supply of alfalfa as Willow reached the small pool and set up her fishing rod.

  Every minute that passed soothed her spirit. The week had been a constant influx of new and often uncomfortable or painful experiences. Sunday afternoon and evening fishing and praying—something familiar, and something she’d always done alone. She didn’t expect her mother to turn the corner at any moment, she didn’t have to remember what her mother did and make up the slack, and she did not have to compensate mentally for the unaccustomed silence around her. Sunday afternoons were always silent—always alone.

  Fish rarely bit before dusk, but occasionally, if the weather was unusually cool or rainy, she’d have a surprise grilled fish dinner. Willow spread a quilt under her favorite silver maple and made herself comfortable near the base of the tree. For three hours, Willow napped, prayed, fished, and escaped from the new life thrust upon her. During those hours, life was normal, peaceful; her loss blissfully disappeared into the haze of the afternoon. Fish nibbled at her flies and swam away safely until she’d almost given up the idea of grilled fish for dinner, but eventually she caught one.

  She put her fish on ice in her mini ice chest, and unwound a rope from one of the tree branches. Holding onto a stick tied about six feet from the bottom of the rope, she flung herself and the rope over the pool and swung back and forth until she grew tired. As the momentum slowed, she dropped into the water, reveling in the cool depths.

  As she rounded the corner of the barn, the shawl of grief slowly settled back around her shoulders. Willow lifted her hands to the sky, her ice chest dangling from one hand and blanket dropping from under her arm. “Lord, it’s just You and me now. Will You remind me that You’re still here when I’m silly enough to feel like I’m all alone?”

  Chapter Five

  “…from dust our God… created man… He is our God… the great I Am…” The small group around the grave sang the words from the printed program Pastor Allen provided.

  The service was mercifully short. In less than ten minutes, the little clustered assembly sang the song, read in unison the scripture printed for them, and listened as the minister prayed for comfort. Willow stood slightly apart from the group leaning on Darla Varney’s arm. Chad stood as close as he could without invading their space and looked miserable.

  The Finley family clustered on the other side of the hole left by the backhoe. Half a dozen men and almost a dozen women had come, but Willow hardly saw them. She’d awakened that morning nauseated with grief. For the first time in a week, the reality of her situation struck her in full force. She was completely alone. Her mother, friend, confidant—that woman was gone. Her life, as she’d known it, also gone.

  In her living room, after the service concluded, she sat on the chaise and nursed a headache until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Though her family milled around the house, asking questions and being friendly enough for such an awkward occasion, Willow stood and moved weakly toward the stairs. Just as Chad noticed her intention and moved to help her escape, she turned to the room of low-chattering guests. “Thank you all for coming. It seems appropriate that people my mother loved and people she would have loved if she’d known them were here to say goodbye. I don’t feel well, so I’m going to bed. Good afternoon.”

  Chad noticed Bill Franklin’s face droop. Whether he truly felt badly for Willow, wanted to discuss something financial with her, or if it was even more personal than that, Chad couldn’t tell but something about it was worth watching in the future. The rest of the group just looked stunned.

  Murmurs rippled around the room, followed by a few snide comments. Once Chad was certain that Willow was upstairs and out of earshot, he stepped onto the first stair. “I’d like to speak to Willow’s family later if it is convenient. Could we meet for dinner somewhere?”

  The Finleys all made immediate demurring sounds. “What about at three-thirty in the park in Fairbury? Please. I need to say a few things that are very important.”

  Reluctant nods gave him the confidence to excuse himself and follow Willow upstairs. He found her lying on her bed, a bucket beside her, and with one arm thrown over her eyes. She winced at the sound of the door shutting.

  “I don’t feel well. Please leave me alone.” Anyone who didn’t understand Willow would assume that she was angry.

  “Willow, have you eaten today? Drank anything? Does the light bother you?”

  “No, no, and yes.”

  Without another word, Chad pulled the shades down in the room noting that they did little to darken it. He spent the next few minutes draping towels over the windows to make the room completely dark. He then slipped from the room, carefully closing the door behind him, and hurried down to the kitchen.

  Odd looks from the departing guests caused him to murmur apologetically, “Migraine. She needs food and water. Anyone here have ibuprofen?”

  Several exclamations of sympathy and “I do” followed immediately. Chad grabbed a glass of water and a couple of tortilla wraps and hurried back upstairs. Seconds later, he dashed back down for the proffered pain reliever.

  In her room, he found it nearly impossible to see. “Do you have a night light?”

  “There’s a candle on the night stand and matches in the drawer.”

  “I think that’d hurt your eyes—”

  “Then move it to the dresser!” Her irritation, while understandable, was also a bit comical.

  Chad stifled a chuckle and moved the candle. “Ok, just eat a few bites and drink some water.”

  “I’ll throw it up.”

  “Better to throw something up than have dry heaves. Eat.”

  Even in the dark, her glare pierced him. However, rather than being intimidated or annoyed, Chad sat on the edge of the bed and laid a damp cloth he’d retrieved from her bathroom on her forehead. He said nothing. He sat next to her until she fell asleep still clutching her bucket.

  As he jogged down her stairs, he glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes left and it drove him crazy. Why am I doing this? he groaned inwardly as he drove toward town. This is not my responsibility!

  “And who is Willow to you?” The man gave a half-smile as though to soften his words.

  Chad nodded understandingly. “I understand your concern and confusion. I’m nothing to her frankly. A week ago, a young woman walked into the police station and asked what to do when someone dies.”

  A collective gasp erupted from the group. “Are you serious?” The question came from a teenager who evidently didn’t want to be there.

  “D—um,” he fumbled realizing that “dead” wasn’t exactly an appropria
te adjective. “Completely.” He swallowed his discomfort and plunged forward. “Let me tell you what we’ve learned about Willow and her mother. Kari moved here when she was pregnant with Willow. She considered moving into an Amish community—”

  “Amish!” The man spoke again. Chad now had no doubts left that this was Willow’s grandfather.

  “Yes, after her attack sh—”

  “Attack!”

  The realization that Kari’s disappearance was a complete mystery to her family grieved Chad. “Yes. She was attacked in Rockland over twenty years ago.”

  “Why didn’t she tell us? Why did she leave? We’d have supported her!”

  “Something about who it was and getting paid off to disappear. I got the idea that whoever it was is prominent and wealthy in the city.”

  He went on to describe their life, Kari’s dream, and finally her death. The gasps of surprise came in almost rhythmic waves. Finally, people quit listening and started questioning. Chad answered what questions he could until he simply didn’t know any more.

  “Ok, honestly, I think this is all I can help you with. I asked you here because I saw how bothered everyone was by Willow’s manner, and I wanted to ensure that you all understood that it wasn’t a lack of appreciation or intended discourtesy. She is accustomed to saying what comes to mind because that’s how they lived.

  “Will she start living a more normal life now that Kari is gone?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just truly do not know.”