Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  “Chuck is misunderstood,” she countered hotly.

  “Oooohh ho ho. Defensive. Looks like a nice triangle!”

  She stared at him blankly. “Umm you lost me.”

  “Well Bill likes you—in a friendlier fashion if you know what I mean—you’re leaning toward Chuck, who is also falling hard and fast…”

  She stood quickly. “Whoa! What are you talking about? One minute I have three good friends who happen to be men, and the next you’re talking about Cleopatra!”

  Silence hung between them for a moment before they erupted in laughter. Willow gained control first. “So what you’re saying is that holding hands with women is fine but not smart with men—same with hugs?”

  His throat went dry. “Um, well honestly, most women don’t hold hands either. Everyone hugs briefly at times. It’s like the modern ‘holy kiss,’ you know?”

  “Holy kiss?”

  “‘Greet one another with a holy kiss; all the churches of Christ greet you.’ Romans 16:16—got that one drilled into my head as a kid.”

  She stood, staring down at him in disbelief. “So instead of a kiss like back then, we hug?”

  Chad shrugged. “Something like that,” he said, standing as well.

  “That’s ridiculous! I can’t believe I’m hearing this!”

  His gut twisted as he tried to explain. “I’m not trying to jump on you or anything. I just thought you should know that someone might misunderstand.”

  “You’d think that people wouldn’t make assumptions about one another. I’d never assume any kind of special attention just because someone showed affection.” Her hands gripped the railing as she continued. “People need it,” she growled. “I’m supposed to just shrivel away here without any human contact because God saw fit to remove all I ever had? That’s madness!”

  “I wasn’t accusing, and no one expects—”

  Her voice grew cold and she stepped back away from him. “I think Mother had the right idea. I think she knew how mixed up people were. I bet someone would have accused her of misleading that guy—” Willow choked back a sob.

  The conversation died. She seemed to wait, expecting him to leave. He wanted to explain—tried—but the words refused to come. Feeling like a hypocrite, Chad gave her a quick hug and left, waiting in his truck until he saw the light come on in the living room. As he turned onto the highway, his phone rang.

  “It’s me.”

  “Hey, you ok?”

  “I think I understand now. I’m glad you told me. I don’t want to leave anyone with the impression that I—” She paused. “I mean it’s kind of embarrassing, but it would be worse if I—”

  “Goodnight, Willow. I’ll come out Friday afternoon when they drop off the sheep.”

  She didn’t disconnect the call. He waited for it; she’d never hesitated before… “Chad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are we ok?”

  “We’re just fine, Willow. We’re just fine.”

  “Night.”

  He punched the off button, and gripped the steering wheel even harder. He had loved how untainted she was by what the naysayers called the “real world.” His job, even in a small town like Fairbury, gave him constant access to jaded people in the so-called real world. However, tonight’s fiasco was proof that there was something to the argument. To be as sheltered as Willow was and then tossed in with the rest of humanity, cold turkey…

  That was the difference, he realized. Even people who were over-protective and semi-isolated their children didn’t usually die before those kids had a chance to spread their wings. They still had a safe place to land if they couldn’t hack it. Lord, if I ever have kids, I want to find a balance between Kari’s model and the “throw ‘em to the wolves” mentality. Both sides have their strengths. I want to blend them—somehow.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chad consulted his cell phone and compared it with the street sign. Last Street. Original. He turned onto the street and drove into the half-circle driveway. He’d been there once before—back when Luke wanted to buy it. He hardly recognized it; the old place looked wonderful. The memory of Luke’s excitement over the potential in it washed over him as he realized that his cousin was doing it after all.

  Children spilled from the front door, dashed around corners, and seemed to drop from the trees. He inched his truck forward, praying that no child emerged from the center of the driveway. From a wicker settee on the porch, his Aunt Libby waved, calling out a greeting. That was unexpected. The Sullivans were certainly integrating themselves into this family.

  “Hey, Aunt Libby! Where’s Luke?”

  “You get over here and give me a hug; show some manners.”

  He grinned at the sternness she interjected into her tone. No one was gentler than his mother’s sister—or more firm. Aunt Libby grabbed him, hugging him fiercely before she sat next to a girl. His training kicked in as he extended his hand and introduced himself. Brown hair, five four or five, hazel eyes, about twenty or so. Probably the oldest of those kids. “I’m Chad, Luke’s cousin. Nice to meet you. Just came to get some advice…”

  The girl smiled up at him and said, “The Sullivans are great at advice, aren’t they? Any time I have a question, I call Libby.” Her eyes roamed over the children who raced past, watching them with care before she added, “I can use all the help I can get with my little clan.”

  “Well, I’m sure your aunt or is it cousin?” He frowned. “It’s aunt, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m sure she’s doing a fine job. She must appreciate your help as well.”

  An amused smile played around the corners of the young woman’s lips. “I’m Aggie. I’m the aunt. It’s just me and the kids except for when Libby and Luke are around—well, and my friend Tina is a great help too.”

  Chad sputtered. “I—”

  Libby took pity on him and intervened. “Oh, Chad really. It’s a natural mistake. Aggie has a very young face. I think Luke’s—”

  “Right here.”

  The front door opened and Luke emerged with a baby strapped to his back and covered in paint splatters. Surprised, Chad watched as Luke’s eyes immediately sought Aggie. Not until he seemed satisfied that all was well with her did he unbuckle the backpack and help pull the little tyke from it. Chad raised an eyebrow at his aunt who countered it with a slight jerk of her head.

  So that’s the way the wind blows, he thought to himself.

  Luke started to set the baby next to Aggie, but the sight of needles and scissors checked him. “I think I’ll find Vannie—”

  “I’ll take him Luke,” a small voice insisted.

  Behind him, Chad saw a little girl with dark braids and a gentle smile, arms outstretched to take her little brother. She didn’t seem big enough to carry around a baby, but Luke handed her the child. His cousin’s eyes followed the girl around the corner of the house and smiled. Chad quirked an eyebrow at Luke, the silent question hanging between them. Isn’t she a bit young for that?

  “Ellie is a responsible girl. She’ll take good care of him.”

  Eager to avoid insulting everyone around him, Chad tried to change the subject. “Let’s talk gravestones.”

  His heart sank into his stomach as his poor choice of phrasing registered. He backpedaled, but Luke took a step toward the front door. “Follow me.”

  Children seemed ever-present. Outside, inside—did one really just disappear into the stairs? The two little girls from Uncle Zeke’s farm raced around the kitchen, screaming. Luke picked up one, looked deeply into the child’s eyes, and then set her down. He grabbed the escaping counterpart and nodded as if to himself. “Cari. Enough. If you want to run, do it outside.”

  “But—”

  “The step. Sit there until I’m done.”

  The child looked ready to protest, but something in Luke’s face stopped her. With a droop to her shoulders and bottom lip that tore at Chad’s heart and made him wonder if Luke’s was now made of ice, the child shuffled out of the kitchen a
nd over to the staircase.

  “Man, Luke—”

  His cousin’s eyes stopped him cold. “Do not undermine me, Chad.”

  “They just lost their—”

  “We either talk headstones or you go home.”

  Luke sketched as Chad described what he had in mind. All around him, evidence of Luke’s skill proved that he’d come to the right place. The cabinets—he’d never seen anything like them, but the careful attention to detail screamed “Luke.”

  “I can do this. I’ll get some kiln-dried teak and oil it well. It should last forever. It’s simple enough that it shouldn’t take long.”

  He’d fought his next question. Despite his resistance, he heard himself ask, “Is there any way that I can help?”

  Luke’s eyes slid sideways for a moment and then back to the paper. The unspoken question was clear. “No, Luke. Nothing like that. She just has no one, and I’m almost the only friend she has. I think it’d mean more to her if I helped.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Luke…” A note of warning coated that single word.

  One of Luke’s maddening silences followed. Chad repeated himself, but still nothing. Just as he was ready to demand some kind of response, Luke shook his head. “I said nothing!”

  He had one more question—one he hoped wouldn’t create more trouble “Willow—do you think Aunt Libby would like to meet her?”

  “I don’t see why not, but why?”

  In between interruptions as Luke directed a child here, or reminded the little one—Cari—to stay “there,” Chad described his awkward discussion with Willow. “I just think that she’s going to be starved for affection. Maybe with a woman in her life—someone motherly…”

  “I’ll ask Mom.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to go. I’m on early tomorrow morning, and I didn’t sleep much last night after that discussion.”

  As Chad stepped outside, Luke muttered, “I’ll bet.” He turned to blast his cousin, but little Cari’s voice stopped him.

  “Wuke…”

  “Coming.”

  “Can I get up now? I won’t wun. Weally!”

  Chad watched from the side window as Luke hunkered down on his heels before a penitent but mischievous little girl. “You go confess to Aunt Aggie, and we’re good.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “You have to.”

  The impish child paused halfway to the door and looked back to see if Luke was watching. “Wuke?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sometimes I don’t wike you vewy much.” She continued to the door before Luke called her name.

  “Cari?”

  “Yeth?”

  Chad smiled as he saw Luke cross the room, hunker down, and smile into the little girl’s eyes. “I’ll always love you very much.”

  I bet you will, he thought to himself, smirking as he jogged down the steps and waved goodbye to the ladies.

  A summer storm rolled into the Rockland area on Wednesday night. Willow pulled Willie into the barn, much to the delight of Roxie, Tib, or Greta—depending on Willow’s preferred name choice at any given second. In the pasture, she led “Dinner” to the corner of the field and convinced the cow to enter a section with a gate and a three-sided shelter if the animal chose to use it. The chickens, she left in their coop. It was dark by that time, but she lit a few Coleman lanterns and hurried to the garden with buckets. Though she preferred picking for Jill on Thursday nights and Friday mornings, Willow decided to do it before hail or tornado arrived and flattened it all.

  She worked for hours in the wind and driving rain. Small hailstones pelted her for a few minutes, but to her relief, didn’t last. Her feet sank into mud as she worked. Soaked, tired, and anxious to get out of the wind and rain, Willow carried buckets and baskets of produce into the summer kitchen, filled the fridge, and carried the rest down the cellar stairs. “Hot shower, here I come!”

  The steady drumbeat of rain on the roof, combined with the weariness that follows a hard day’s work, provided the best sleep she’d had since the “horrible morning.” She awoke on Thursday to a steady downpour. Her garden work was out of the question. She milked Wilhelmina, apologizing for the incarceration with an annoying puppy, and let the dog outside. The pup made for the back porch as if expecting to be allowed inside. “Tuff luck, Antsy.” She stared at the bouncing ball of fur as she approached the house. “That one almost works. Will it fit when you’re eight and lazy?” The pup’s eyes seemed to dance with exuberance. “Maybe if you were one of those little dogs. Mother said those things are hyper until they die. I wonder how she knew.”

  Eggs, sausage, biscuits from the oven now that the day was cooler with rain—it was a rare summer treat. She sopped her biscuit into the last of the gravy and frowned at the leftovers in the pan. She knew how to cook for two—one not so much. With a sigh, she grabbed Mother’s bowl and dumped the rest in it, setting it outside for the pup. “It’s too bad Chad didn’t stop by. I could have given it to him.” The dog stared at her before turning back to the bowl and wolfing down the last few bites. Once licked clean, Willow carried the dish into the house and washed it and the other dishes.

  That sparked a new idea. Friday was housework day, but since she couldn’t do the day’s work, she’d do tomorrow’s. She scrubbed the kitchen cabinets, wiped down the walls, pulled the curtains from the window. The small woven mats in front of the sink and stove, went into a pile by the back door. She pulled two new ones out, smiling weakly at the memory of she and her mother taking turns reading aloud as the other wove. Tears fell as one more familiar thing twisted her gut. Sobs shook her shoulders. She gripped the counter as she realized that it was yet another thing she’d never do with her mother.

  Frustrated, Willow brushed aside her tears, choked back the next sob, and carried her cleaning supplies to the dining room. She oiled bookcases andthe dining table with the extra leaves they only used for cutting out large pieces of fabric. As she worked, Willow heard herself asking her mother about it when she was a little girl.

  “Why do we have three tables, Mother? We don’t even have enough dishes for three tables. Why don’t we have more dishes? If we had more dishes, we could wash them once a day!”

  “We don’t have more dishes for that very reason. I had four of everything before you were born. I could go a whole day without washing dishes and still be able to eat breakfast. So, I put the extras away.” Mother’s hand cupped Willow’s chin, stroking the little cheek with her thumb. “I will never forget how excited I was when I pulled out a second set for you. I was happy to wash two of everything three times a day after that.”

  “But the tables—”

  “What about them? Mother ran her fingers along the edge of the dining table as she spoke.

  “We have one in the kitchen, we have this one in here—we never use this one—and the one in the living room we could use.” The unspoken words hung between them. “—if you’d let us.”

  “I know you think it would be exciting to eat at that table, but it’s just a table. We have a kitchen table and a dining table. The living room table is for writing.”

  “Why can we write at the kitchen table but not eat at the living room table? That is illogical.”

  “It is but for one thing,” Mother said. “We don’t because I said so. That is sufficiently logical to me.”

  “Well, why don’t we eat at the dining table then? Isn’t it for dining?”

  “Yes, but it’s easier to eat in the kitchen.”

  Willow stared at her mother. “So why do we have it? It’s wasteful. Illogical.”

  “You would think so,” Mother said. She turned and left the room but not before Willow heard her say, “There are just some things I couldn’t give up, and a dining table was one—family dinners…”

  “I understand now, Mother,” Willow whispered as she scrubbed the windowsill and took down dusty curtains.

  By the time she finished the housework and planned the next week’s canning,
Willow realized she was hungry—lunch time. She pulled out the last of her roasted chicken and made a sandwich. She’d planned to spend the afternoon in the small pile of fabric Lee had given her for her birthday, but the chicken sparked a new thought.

  Chickens. She could butcher the older chickens. Though they usually waited until September, she didn’t need as many eggs now, and at least two weren’t laying anymore. She set up everything in the barn, sent the pup outside, and went to find her first chicken.

  The storm had unsettled the birds, but finding a leg with a green band around its leg wasn’t difficult. The younger chickens wore yellow, and the new chicks would get blue. She picked one that she suspected was “retired” and carried it from the coop. In the barn, she wrung the neck, chopped off the head, and hung the bird on the hook of their butchering cart.

  They skinned most of their chickens without plucking them. She sliced the skin from neck to legs, peeling it off as she went. She made quick work of the bird, and less than fifteen minutes later, Willow dashed out into the rain for a fellow coop-mate. Once she got in the groove of things, she could butcher and skin a chicken in less than ten minutes.

  Her phone rang just as she finished up with the tenth chicken. Gloves covered in blood, Willow let it ring while she carried the last bird to rest next to the others on the kitchen counter. By the time she washed her hands, dried them, and pulled out her phone, it had long stopped ringing.

  “Hey Chad, you called?”

  “Oh, good. I just wanted to make sure this wind wasn’t causing any trouble that way.”

  She wondered if he ever turned off the protector part of his law enforcement persona. “Nope. We’re right as rain here.”

  “Cute.”

  “Why, thank you!” she quipped.

  “Very funny. Hey, if this rain keeps up, I don’t think Cheltenham Ranch is going to deliver the lambs.”

  Her shoulders drooped. She hadn’t let herself think about it. “I kind of expected that. Oh, well. Maybe next week.”

  She knew her words gave away her disappointment when he asked, “What are you doing today?”