Past Forward Volume 1

by Chautona Havig

  He retraced his steps and fingered the length of silk. After surveying his living area, looking for some place to tie or hang it, Chad nodded, satisfied. Neighbors shouted their disapproval as he pounded a nail into the wall. Regardless of how he tied the scarf to it, he had to admit that it looked terrible.

  Moonlight streamed in through the window. He glanced at the pole holding his curtains. Feeling like a decorating genius, he draped the scarf around the pole and stood back to survey the results. “Now that looks good.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  September 1996-

  I went to Rockland today. Alone of course. Willow stayed home with Bumpkin. I told her not to start a fire, not to climb up in the loft, and not to use knives. I forgot to tell her not to go fishing. I arrived home to a bucket full of fish in the cellar. Her little pixie face grinned at me and said, “I couldn’t clean them—you said…” Oh boy. What have I done?

  She found an algebra book I had in the library. I didn’t even know I had one. She read the lessons and then asked me how to add, subtract, and multiply fractions so she could try the problems. She’s ten. I think she’ll be beyond my mathematic capabilities in the next couple of years.

  I think we’ll embellish all of our files and journals this winter. I ordered paints and sprays to protect the work. Colored pencils. She needs more creativity. I should buy her a doll to dress. I’ll ask Mr. Burke for suggestions.

  While in Rockland, I walked by the house on Wimpole Street. It looks the same as ever. I can’t do it again. The urge to go visit was almost irresistible. I almost convinced myself that I could do it without mentioning Willow. I don’t trust myself.

  The good news is, however, that my accounts are growing nicely. I have more than made up for the money spent to get set up, and by the time I’m sixty, we could be looking at eight figures. She can do anything. Go anywhere. Be anyone she wants to be.

  January 1997-

  Willow is a designer at heart. The clothing she created for her Christmas doll is incredible. I mentioned how ice skaters use flesh colored knit to give the impression of skin. Not a smart move. She asked me to call and order some immediately. She practically pushed me out the door. Now her doll has clothes without that nasty orangish brown body fabric showing at the neck and upper arms. It’s amazing.

  Her relationship with the Lord inspires me. When my faith grows weak, I observe her. She doesn’t look for loopholes. She accepts. When I hear “no” from the Lord, I fight it. I take it personally. When she hears no, Willow accepts it as readily as she accepts a straightforward no from me. Oh, for faith like hers!

  We’re nearly done with our projects. It’s almost February. Soon we’ll plant tomatoes and create winterizing houses for the lettuce beds. I am craving a nice big salad.

  I wonder what the living room chaise would look like if we reupholstered it. That red is quite garish. Perhaps a lovely green suede would be better. I’ll ask Willow.

  The bus pulled into the Rockland station, and Willow felt like a seasoned traveler as she snapped her mother’s journal closed and slipped it into her purse. Within minutes, she stood waiting for the train that would take her into the heart of the city. As she waited, her eyes scanned the station, observing everything around her.

  Humanity looked, smelled, and acted different in the city. Travelers crowded around their station markers, hoping for a seat on trains that would deposit them anywhere else but there. However, the homeless shuffled between areas, trying to avoid security personnel who would send them above ground and into the heat.

  At the Jefferson Station, Bill waited for her as she stepped onto the platform. His eyes lit up the moment she stepped into view. That he was glad to see her, she didn’t doubt—not at all. He dropped an arm around her shoulder and led her toward the escalators. “Let’s get a cab. Are you excited?”

  “Excited?”

  “Your ID. You’ll be able to do anything—go anywhere. You have the legal right to do anything you want.” Bill squeezed her shoulder slightly. “Anything legal that is.”

  “Gotta stay legal,” she teased. “Chad would arrest me.” She felt him stiffen but decided to ignore it.

  Once on the street, Willow took a deep breath, glancing around her and waiting for the rise of panic. It never came. The buildings were still intimidating, but the raw fear that had held her captive on previous visits never materialized. Her shoulders relaxed. “Well, at least I’m not afraid.”

  “Well, I’m glad—for both our sakes.”

  “Why yours?”

  Bill’s eyes darted back and forth, looking for something. “Because maybe then you’ll visit more.” Bill hailed a cab as he spoke and helped her inside, directing the driver to take them to the DMV. “I have frustrating news—for me that is. You’ll probably be relieved.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I got a last minute call from someone I’ve been trying to nab as a client for two years. He’s in town and wants to meet with me. I can’t miss the opportunity, so I have a one o’clock appointment with him.”

  “Oh that’s wonderful news, though!”

  “You’re welcome to come with me, or I thought maybe you might want to walk around the Row, check out that bookstore again, go back to Boho… something like that.”

  “I can do that. Sure.” She thought for a moment. Seeing what Bill did might be fun, not to mention educational. But Willow knew she would want to ask questions—want to understand. Bill shouldn’t be put in that position. “I’d love to watch you, but I wanted to go to the boutique again anyway. I think I should do that.”

  He started to answer, but a near miss by a car taking a “free right” flung her into Bill’s shoulder. She screamed. Bill glared at the idiot as he passed, and the driver shared his colorful opinion of the man’s driving skills. Willow reached for Bill’s hand, heedless of any of Chad’s warnings. She didn’t care. “How did he not hit us?”

  “We’ve got a good driver.” Bill nodded at the rearview mirror. Willow watched the men exchange glances before Bill added, “I won’t forget that.”

  “DMV is right around the corner. I’d ask if you want me to wait, but you probably aren’t feeling like a joke right now.”

  Willow’s eyes danced back and forth, trying to understand the men’s chuckles. “What is funny about that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  At the DMV, Bill held the door open for her. She watched as he paid the driver—and significantly more than the meter said. As he led her to the entrance, she smiled at him. “I think that Mother knew this about you.”

  “What about me?”

  “That you are a good man. That you know how to treat people. I’m proud to know you.”

  His reply garbled into nonsensical nothingness as her eyes took in the sea of people waiting in a line that snaked around the room and stopped only a few feet from the door. She felt him lead her to a counter and saw the paper that Bill handed her, but she didn’t understand what he said. Her mouth went dry and her hands trembled.

  “What if they say no? Then what happens?” Bill said something, but she didn’t hear him. She asked him to repeat himself.

  “Everything will be fine.” His hands squeezed her shoulders before he pulled a pen from his pocket and passed it to her. “You just fill this out, show them your birth certificate and Social security card, and you’re done.” He pointed to the line. “I’ll go wait in line. Fill this all out and bring it to me when you’re done. It’ll save time.”

  While he stood in line, Willow followed the instructions on the back of the application to the letter. She filled her name in block print in every single box with careful attention to legibility. Although she’d already memorized her Social Security number, she double-checked the numbers—twice. Satisfied all of the information was perfect, she signed her name on the line indicated. However, the line for the date was so small that she left it, assuming they might have a rubber stamp for it like the ones in the ex-library books they ow
ned.

  She wove past the half dozen people behind Bill and passed him the form. “There. Is that all correct?” Willow indicated the date line. “There isn’t room…”

  He took the pen from her and wrote the date as a series of numbers. Mother had done that occasionally. Willow felt foolish for not thinking of it. “Well, that was simple.”

  The line crawled forward as if unwilling to rush the employees behind the counter. Those in line seemed to compete with those assisting them for who was most bored. The monotone “next please” spoken at regular intervals made the job seem to be the most pathetic thing she’d ever seen.

  After what seemed like hours, Willow stepped to the next available spot and said, “I’d like to get a State ID, please.”

  “Fill out this paperwork—” The woman passed a form across the counter.

  Bill started to intervene, but Willow preempted him. “Is that the same as this one?”

  “Hey, we got one on the ball, girls!” the woman cried to no one in particular. “I need to see your birth certificate and your Social Security card.”

  Willow pulled the documents from her purse along with several checks. “Oh, Bill. I brought more checks for you to deposit.”

  Bill slipped the checks into his suit breast pocket and waited for Willow to finish the process of finger printing, photo taking, and signing the electronic screen. The clerk nearly went crazy waiting for her to finish the signature. “Come on, lady, it’s not the Declaration of Independence or anything!”

  “Actually, you have no idea how much of a ‘declaration of independence’ that this truly is,” Bill said.

  At last, Willow was satisfied. She put down the pen and waited as the woman crossed the room and returned carrying the ID card. “At least your picture looks good.”

  Bill and Willow stared at it. “I think I look orange.”

  The woman stuck out her arm. “See that? Dark brown, right? My driver’s license is almost as orange as yours.”

  A man behind them grumbled about time wasted over chit chat, so Willow thanked the clerk and gathered her purse. Outside the building, Willow grabbed Bill’s arm as he tried to hail a cab. “Let me try.”

  He stood back and waited as Willow tried and failed once before waving down a taxi. Once inside, she consulted Bill for an address and then directed the driver to the soup and salad place they’d chosen for lunch. “That wasn’t too hard at all.”

  “You did fine,” he agreed. “Here. I thought you might want access to your money without having to go through me.”

  Willow opened the envelope Bill gave her and pulled two cards and a checkbook from it. She turned each card over, reading them before she looked up at him questioningly. “What is all this for?”

  “Whatever you need. We also need to discuss your expenses and income. The life insurance check came, so that account is obscenely over funded. We need to transfer some of it to a higher yield…”

  Willow listened half-heartedly as she fingered the checkbook, compared the two cards, and tried to make sense of it all. “So what are the checks for?”

  “Well, if you need to pay someone for something—like if someone does work for you, for example. You can use them at stores too, but I’d use the credit card since you actually can earn money by spending that way.” He pulled the checks she’d handed him from his pocket and returned them. “You can also deposit these with the slips at the back of the checkbook.”

  Willow found the deposit slips, fingered the checks, and then addressed the driver. “Can you please take me to—” she consulted her checks. “—4316 Waterbrook? It’s the First Rockland National Bank.”

  “Miss, there’s a branch just around the corner at that light. Are you sure you want to go way over there, or—”

  She consulted Bill. “Does it matter which one if the name is the same?”

  “Not at all. There are at least a dozen branches around the city.”

  “Then please, turn at the light. We want that one.”

  Outside the bank, Willow grinned, feeling a bit juvenile but giddy. “I did it. I got a taxi, made a decision, and now I’m about to deposit my first checks in my bank account!”

  As Bill opened the door, Willow’s eyes grew wide. “What—”

  “Just enter, get through the doors, and wait for me. I’ll go through when you’re done.”

  Nervously, Willow stepped into the clear glass anteroom and waited as the door swung shut and then another door buzzed. She jumped. Looking panicked, she rushed back to the first door but a security guard opened the other door for her. “This way ma’am.”

  “Oh, thank you! I don’t know what I did—”

  “You’re fine. Step out of the security room, please.”

  Bill entered the box almost at the same instant as the other door closed. He pulled the door shut behind him and exited the second the buzzer tripped. “I didn’t think about the buzzer, I’m sorry.”

  “What is that for?”

  “Well,” Bill began, “It helps prevent robberies. Only one person can enter at a time, the glass is bulletproof, and if anything looks odd, they can lock them in there until the police arrive.”

  She shuddered. “And Chad wants to be an officer here. I just don’t understand.”

  “I imagine it has to do with wanting to be a part of the action. He’s young and ready to take on the world. A few years on the force here, and he’ll realize what he had in Fairbury.”

  At the counter, Willow followed Bill’s instructions on how to fill out the deposit slip and endorse the checks. Each check received equal attention—careful signature and a copied account number, double-checked for accuracy. By the time she was finally ready to get in line, several people had come and gone.

  “This is so exciting! I have so much money to put in too!”

  Bill glanced at the deposit total. Seven hundred eighteen dollars. Though not chump change, he couldn’t fathom why she was so excited over it. “All produce?”

  “Yes! Isn’t it amazing?”

  They stepped out of the bank and Bill pointed down the street. “Restaurant is just a couple of blocks that way.”

  “Let’s walk. I don’t feel like getting in a cramped car. The city closes in enough on me.”

  The restaurant was bright and full of green plants, giving it the feel of a greenhouse. She felt the tension of the morning slowly evaporate as she rested and perused her menu. “The sandwiches look good…”

  “They have the state of the day options as well as a few classics. I like to come in when they have the Arizonan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Grilled chicken and beavertail cactus with tomatoes, avocados, and chipotle sauce on pan bread. So good.”

  “I know some of those. I’ve never had some of that. Maybe I should try it.”

  “The meal of the day is the Carolinian—BBQ pork and coleslaw on a po-boy.”

  Willow set down her menu. “I’ll take whatever you get.” A new sandwich caught her eye. “Never mind. I want the Italian. Mother brought salami home from the city once. It was so good!”

  Over lunch, they discussed her financial options. Willow assumed that the life insurance payout would be added to her current investment account and would grow over time as the original funds had. Bill listened and made several suggestions, all of which had strong merits. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  When their server brought the bill, she accepted and read it carefully. Once certain of its accuracy, Willow pulled several bills from her purse, but Bill stopped her. “Why don’t you use your card? It’ll be good practice.”

  “Which one?”

  Bill showed her the different logos on the cards. “The VISA is for purchases and things. The other is for withdrawing cash or making purchases without I.D. As long as you have that four digit number I gave you…”

  “You mean five—”

  Bill frowned, shaking his head. “Don’t announce it in public; you’re asking for it to be stolen.”


  As they left the restaurant, Bill explained how the lunch she bought today would be on her end of the month statement, and he’d pay for it and any other purchases all at once. “Just try to use the VISA as much as possible. You might as well get all the cash back that you can.”

  Willow was confused. “But why would they pay me to spend that money? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well for one thing, it’s not very much. Only two percent, and even that’s only because of your credit limit.”

  “But still—”

  Bill continued. “And they do it because they’re hoping you’ll spend more than you can pay or that you’ll forget to pay it. Interest is how they make their money.”

  “I need to find a book on personal finance. I understand principles. I know how it works, but not why. I am so confused. None of this makes sense.”

  They passed a Borders bookstore, and Bill did an about-face. “Let’s go in and find you that book.”

  Willow rode home in a daze. While the fields and trees whizzed past, her mind was occupied trying to digest all that she had experienced and learned. Though she had planned to read her book on personal finance, she found herself lost in the events of the day. At Boho Chic, she’d enjoyed a tour of their workroom and the new fabrics coming for the upcoming season. The temptation to purchase another new skirt had amused the women in the workroom—or rather, her refusal to give into it.

  “Just go for it.”

  “But I already have more than I need. It’s silly,” she’d argued. Of course, now she found herself tempted to wear another of her older skirts to practice riding her bike again. If she tore it… That’s ridiculous, Willow Anne Finley. Mother would be ashamed of you!

  For what must have been the tenth time that day, she peeked into her wallet to be sure the ID card was still in its proper place. Two other new pieces of plastic flashed at her as she closed it. Those cards seemed as good as cash—better if Bill was right about the “cash rewards.” She knew he must be, but the idea seemed absurd. Who would pay other people to spend their money? Mother had explained how credit worked. It was a simple, logical concept. Borrow a hundred dollars and pay the lender for the use of the money. That idea she understood. Paying people to borrow from you—ridiculous.