Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  “I’ve always wanted to do this. So many of my books had stories of people getting dunked; it sounded so fun!”

  Her first ball went wide and nearly hit a nearby cider vendor, sending the jester into pantomimed fits of laughter. However, the second ball hit the target squarely in place but not hard enough to release the seat lever. Suddenly, the jester knelt on the board and begged for mercy as she tried a third ball.

  It missed. Chad was sure she’d fish out another dollar and try again, but she waved as though leaving. He stepped up to the booth and plunked down his dollar. “Hey, wait. It’s my turn.”

  He deliberately missed the first time. The second ball landed in the tank and the jester howled in laughter. Chad passed the third ball to Willow and shrugged. “Maybe you can do it; all I’m doing is soaking my pride.”

  Already concentrating on the target, Willow accepted the ball. He could hear her thoughts as if she spoke them; she couldn’t risk wasting Chad’s last ball with a poor throw. She set her purse on the ground at her feet and stepped back an extra foot. “Ok, my last shot. Here goes.”

  The jester dropped into the water. Willow squealed and jumped up and down, nearly giddy with excitement. “I did it!”

  “We’ll come back at the end of the night and see if you win.”

  Confused, she glanced at the sign below the dunk tank. “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, they always have a prize at the end of the day for the person who knocked them off after the longest time. See, he’s putting how long that jester was up there before you knocked him down—” Chad gave the man Willow’s name and then led her off into the crowd.

  Next, Willow and Chad jousted on low tricycles with pool noodle lances. Nothing was too silly or immature for Willow to try. They listened to minstrels, took dance lessons in groups, and ate frozen custards in between activities. Near the gazebo, a group of women gathered trying to do some of the more intricate branle dances and one of the women convinced Willow to join them.

  “She’s having fun, isn’t she?”

  “Hey, Tait! You come alone?”

  “I brought Eden, but she’s off doing something with the fortune teller, so I left. I get so frustrated sometimes.”

  A wreath from Willow’s head flew off as she whirled, and Chad scrambled to retrieve it for her. He relaxed, watching the dance again, when Tait said, “You guys seem to be getting close.”

  His heart sank. “Not like that. She has a guy in Rockland who is interested. He’ll have her there sooner than later if he gets his way.”

  “What a shame.” Tait’s voice held a trace of regret.

  “Why?”

  With a shrug, Tait stood and scanned the crowd for his houseguest. “She just seems so happy here. I only know what I’ve heard of her and a miniscule bit of what I’ve seen, but I can’t imagine her in a city. It seems like it would crush the life from her.” He paused and then nudged Chad’s arm, pointing at Willow. “Look at her. Do you really think a girl like that would be satisfied in a crowded and jaded place like Rockland?”

  Tait was gone before Chad could answer. He watched fascinated as Willow spun and wove through the dance steps her skirt and hair flying behind her as she moved. His friend was right. Willow shouldn’t consider a life in the city. As different as she was from her mother, she still valued what she had.

  “Maybe Bill could commute,” he thought to himself as he waved back at her.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  People lined up across the town square on either side of the gazebo. Willow touched Alexa’s arm as she passed and wished her good luck. “This is so exciting. I love Shakespeare!”

  “Come join us! See, even the little children get involved. Come on.”

  Willow demurred, but Chad saw the desire in her face and insisted. While Willow and Alexa took their place in the lineup, he hurried to the police station for a lawn chair. Upon his return, he found a place up front and waited for the bee to… be.

  The first question sent the crowd tittering. “Oh Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”

  By the third question, the children started dropping. One teenager cited Two Men of Verona as the source of “pound of flesh,” and withdrew in shame. Willow answered her first question in a clear voice without a hint of waver. Alexa followed just as certainly.

  The questions grew more obscure. An elderly gentleman answered each of his with a flourish that seemed almost courtly. A young mother held a baby in a sling, rocking back and forth, as she identified a line from Taming of the Shrew, and a teenaged boy stood, hands in pockets with a bored air and fired back answers as quickly as they came.

  Soon, it was down to those five contestants. The crowd grew eager with anticipation, as each question grew more and more difficult. Sonnets didn’t faze them. Finally, the mother fell with a question regarding the number of one.

  Four remained. The emcee seemed slightly panicked as his list of questions dwindled to the last few. Finally, the gentleman fell with the quote, “The devil can cite scripture for his purpose,” naming Hamlet as the source. Then there were three.

  “Well, I must say I’ve never made it so far into my list before,” Fairbury’s high school English teacher commented. I only have one question left so I think I’ll have to pull out my book of Shakespearean insults and see what I can find in there.”

  As Mr. Shumacher talked and joked, Chad watched Willow’s face. At the mention of insults, her eyes brightened and a small smile played about her lips. Alexa seemed unruffled as well, but the teenager was positively smug. This was going to get interesting— if not brutal.

  “Ok, first insult, Alexa Hartfield name that source. ‘Thou thing of no bowels thou!’“

  Alexa grinned. “Oh that it were true. Alas, it is not but the source be Troilus and Cressida.”

  The crowd roared with approval and good humor. “Oh my,” the emcee declared. “I think Alexa has set a standard for you two.”

  “To quiz or not to quiz, that is the question,” quipped the teenager in his lazy manner.

  “Ok, ok. Mark, name the source of ‘You should be women, and yet your beards forbid me to interpret that you are so.’ Well, except that there’s no beard on that smooth chin!”

  “Macbeth.”

  A few more insults flew through the air sending the crowd into waves of laughter. All contestans failed one question, leaving them all still standing. “Ok, Mark, your turn again. ‘Thou hath not so much brain as earwax.’”

  A confused look crossed his face. He started to answer Taming of the Shrew but stopped mid-sentence. “Troilus and Cressida?”

  “Ok, Mark. What made you change your answer?”

  “Well we dissected Taming within an inch of its life last year, and if there was anything about earwax in it, I would have known. It just sounds like something Katerina would say.”

  “You’re right. Troilus and Cressida.” Mr. Shumacher grinned. “Miss Finley—”

  “Willow please,” she replied.

  “Willow then, but what is in a name? Would a rose by—”

  “Yes it would, but it wouldn’t fit me anymore would it?” Willow bantered back.

  Laughing, Mr. Shumacher tried again. “Please identify the work from which cometh, ‘Thou art like the toad, ugly and venomous.’“

  “Hey, that’s not true Shumacher and you know it! That’s about the antithesis of Willow, and please note that I used a word with more than two syllables!” Chad called from the front row.

  “Who says I was talking about her? I’d say it fits you better!” the emcee retorted.

  Willow’s quiet voice interrupted the exchange. “I know it doesn’t fit Chad, and I hope it doesn’t fit you, Mr. Shumacher. However, the source of the quote is As You Like It.”

  “Mark, ‘Thou art the rudliest welcome to this world!’“

  “Well, actually, I’d say my brother Jon is, but whatever. Much Ado About Nothing,” he stated confidently.

  “I’m sorry, that’s i
ncorrect. Alexa?”

  Miss Hartfield gave Mark an apologetic smile. “Sorry Mark, it’s Pericles.”

  “Correct,” the English instructor agreed. He gave his student a sympathetic look and then returned to his book. “Ok, we’re down to Willow and Alexa. Alexa has never lost this bee, but Willow is giving her a run for her money. Too bad there’s no money on this.”

  Chad pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and waved it. “If there was, mine would be on Willow.”

  “That’s obvious, boy!” Shumacher taunted. “Ok, so onto the next! Oh dear, Chad will weep but I must quote, ‘Thy lips rot off!’“

  With a smile that the entire crowd misinterpreted until she spoke, Willow replied, “Oh, Chad would probably thank the Lord for that one. However, Timon of Athens is the source, milord.”

  The crowd roared and those nearby Chad pushed him and jeered. “Ok, ok. Quiet down. There’s more dancing later, and I heard we have a real joust happening here with horses, armor, and lances so let’s get a move on. Alexa, ‘Methink’st thou art a general offense and every man should beat thee.’“

  “Methink’st that All’s Well That Ends Well.”

  “Excellent! And Willow, ‘Out of my sight, thou dost infect my eyes.’“

  “She doesn’t infect Chad’s eyes!” a voice called from the crowd.

  “Well Richard III didn’t agree!” Willow retorted.

  Several more insults flew with entertaining comments from the audience. Chad’s face fell as the quote, “Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins,” dropped in the air. For the first time in the match, Chad prayed Alexa didn’t miss the question.

  Alexa, distracted by the look on Chad’s face, answered with the first title that came to mind. “Othello?” As soon as she spoke the words, Alexa knew the correct answer and groaned. “No, it isn’t. I’ve just lost my first match.”

  “Willow. ‘Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins.’“

  “Richard III. Act One, Scene Three. ‘Thou slander of thy mother’s heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins! Thou rag of honour! Thou detested—”

  A cheer went up from the crowd, drowning out her final words. Chad raced to swing her around jubilantly. “You did it! You beat the reigning champion.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Willow shook her head. “I’ll explain it later. I won fairly. You can’t let your train of thought be derailed by others around you.”

  Mr. Shumacher called the group to attention. “We have a winner. I’d like to present my book of insults to our new champion in addition to the tickets for the RAC production of As You Like It. I’m sure you’ll love it!”

  “Let’s get something to drink. You must be parched.”

  For nearly half an hour, they wandered the booths, tasting the various delicacies and enjoying the street acts. As she admired a necklace from a woman wearing dozens, a voice called over the loudspeaker. “Come one! Come all!” the announcer shouted from the gazebo. “Please stay behind the ropes or move to another street.”

  The announcer called Willow and Alexa to the gazebo. “As the finalists of the Shakespeare bee, we decided to give these two lovely ladies the honor of being the ‘fair’ maidens of the evening!”

  Alexa led Willow to the gazebo where they each chose silks that matched their clothing. The announcer continued. “In order to keep things interesting, our horsemen have volunteered to sit out the first joust in order to allow Joe and Chad to compete for the title of winner of the tournament.”

  The two officers exchanged nervous glances, but Willow’s squeal and Alexa’s mischievous grin prompted the men to throw up their hands and cross the rope, making exaggerated bows as they did. Time crawled. Snails have moved more quickly than the men did as they donned armor, joking and laughing about how ridiculous they felt. Then, they followed as the real jousters led them away. The crowd waited impatiently for the return of their entertainment.

  “I hear hooves!”

  Necks craned to see the horses. Around the corners of Elm and Beech streets, two men rode onto Market Street toward one another at moderate speeds. With only the silks tied around their arms to identify them the crowd watched, expecting to see Chad and Joe race gallantly toward each other with grace and agility. They didn’t.

  Joe, never having ridden a horse, barely managed to stay seated. Alexa and Willow stifled guffaws as he slid around in the saddle, nearly falling repeatedly. The “real” knight jogged alongside him, pushing his hips back in place with each slip and slide.

  However, Chad, though perfectly comfortable in the saddle, was clearly not comfortable holding a heavy lance and riding with nearly forty pounds of metal strapped to him. While he slipped much less often, his lance nearly dragged the ground beside him.

  The crowd laughed and jeered. Every second that they grew closer, the men grew visibly more nervous. Joe tried to hold his lance steady but failed miserably. Chad looked more confident with every step, but when the official knights dashed out of the way and left them to their own resources, the two men became comic relief for the night.

  At first impact, both men flew from their saddles and landed on their backsides, grunting at impact. The crowd hushed as the men stared at one another. Joe jumped up and grabbed his lance backing away slowly. Chad caught the idea and followed suit.

  With twenty yards between them, the men charged. Joe, in the last few feet, tilted his lance downward like a pole for vaulting and flew through the air landing, once more, on his backside. Unable to stop his momentum, Chad’s lance hit the ground flinging him sideways. He rolled several feet and lay still.

  Willow took a step in his direction but Alexa held her back whispering, “You’ll embarrass him.”

  Both men stood. Chad removed his helmet. Joe followed suit and then removed his leg armor as well. Minutes later, each man retied the silks to their bare arms and stared at each other as though to say, “Now what?”

  Alexa hurried down the steps of the gazebo, crossed the yard, and disappeared into the fortuneteller’s booth. She exited moments later, carrying two chairs. “You boys can get the table; I’m not carrying it in this dress!”

  “Why for?” Chad quipped.

  “Arm wrestle, what else?”

  Applause erupted from the crowd. The table arrived, and Joe started to sit but Alexa waved him back. “Who said anything about you?” She beckoned Willow and motioned for her to sit.

  Chad protested. “That’s just not fair!”

  “What, don’t think Willow can hack it, Chad?” Joe taunted.

  “No, I am afraid she’ll break Alexa’s arm!”

  “Alexa can handle herself.”

  Willow took her place opposite Alexa and stared interestedly at the table. “So what do we do?”

  A roar of laughter followed her statement. Alexa grabbed Willow’s hand, showed her how to keep her elbows down, and then gently pushed Willow’s arm to the table. “Except that you’ll resist and try to push mine over.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Worried?” Alexa queried, amused.

  “Yes. For you. You have no upper body strength. I think Chad might be right.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Maybe you should be,” Willow muttered.

  The wrestling match was over before it started. The minute “Go!” left Joe’s lips, Alexa’s arm was flattened against the table. Immediately, she looked at Alexa’s face looking for pain, but Alexa just laughed.

  “You warned me. I had no idea—you are strong. Fight Chad!”

  The crowd agreed. Chants of “Wil-low, Wil-low” echoed around them. She shrugged and pushed her arm up on the table ready for the challenge. Chad, on the other hand, held back as if uncertain.

  “Come on, Chad, it’s just fun. I didn’t hurt Alexa…”

  The slight taunt in her tone amused him. He took Alexa’s vacated place and wrapped his fingers around hers feeling the strength in them. Their eyes met and a
n understanding passed between them.

  “Go!”

  Muscles strained. This was nothing like the previous no-contest match. This was serious. They each fought for every centimeter of leverage but eventually, Willow’s arm drooped and at the touch of the table against her knuckle, she released her death grip on Chad’s hand.

  “I lose. I felt the table.”

  Chad didn’t budge. “You could have beaten me. I demand a rematch.”

  “I’m tired I guess. I started off ok but—”

  The announcer demanded a clearance of the area so the “real” tournament could take place. “Surely, you joust!” Chad quipped, but no one other than Willow heard him.

  Wayne at The Pettler handed Willow a daisy, almost robotic in his movements, but her exclamation of delight brought a smile to his face. “Here, take a few more. You understand daisies.”

  He thrust a dozen or so daisies into her hands and smiled broadly. “A woman with Chad deserves something to smile at—she certainly can’t smile at him!”

  “Why, I do all the time, but thanks!”

  Without another word, Willow crossed the street, wove around several booths until she found the one she wanted. She pulled a large beaded clip from a display rack and passed it to the vendor. “I’d like this.”

  The woman and Chad both watched delighted as she snapped half the stems length from the flowers. She gathered her hair into a loose ponytail and twisted into a knot at the back of her hair. With the clip, she secured the daisies in the valley of her twist. “There.”

  Chad smiled his approval. “It suits you.”

  “It’ll hold them until I get home anyway.”

  The roar of the crowd told them the joust was over. Music filled the streets, and she grabbed his hand. “Let’s go. There’s only an hour left. I want to dance!”

  Chad entered his apartment and unbuttoned his shirt. He tossed it in a pile in the corner of the room, untying the green silk scarf from his arm as soon as the shirt left his grasp. The scarf, he dropped to the couch and strolled toward the kitchen for a bottle of orange juice but stopped midway