“That’s m’boy.”
“Thankfully, he’s almost out or I’d shoot you for encouraging such bad—ahem—table manners.”
Liam’s wails grew louder as Chuck and Cheri returned with the boy. Willow tried to cover Lucas’ ears, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. The little tyke was gone. “Does he need a diaper?”
Cheri shook her head. “Just changed him less than half an hour ago.”
As they talked, as Willow carried her boy to her room and laid him in the playpen, and as Chad fought to keep from demanding his child, Chuck worked to quiet Liam. Twice Cheri offered to take him. Twice Chuck said no. Willow offered when she returned to the room. He still insisted that he was fine.
Several minutes later, Liam belched and sighed. “Good one, kid.” Chuck almost beamed with pride. Chad and Willow refused to look at one another.
Liam giggled. “We’ve been good buddies, haven’t you little Chuck.”
“His name is Liam, you moron.”
Appalled, Willow cried, “Cheri!”
“What? The kid’s name is Liam.”
“Right. After me. Love that name.”
“Um, Chuck?” Chad couldn’t follow the mental gymnastics that turned Liam into “little Chuck” and named him after the last man he would ever want to name a son for. “His name is Liam. How is that even close to Chuck or Charles, I suppose.”
“Charles William Majors.”
He opened his mouth to correct Chuck, but Willow coughed. “But we call him Liam, Chuck. We didn’t want to use names that other people we loved used—too confusing. It’s better to stick to Liam.”
Nodding, Chuck sank into the couch again, blowing raspberries on Liam’s cheek. At the gesture, Willow made a choking sound. Chad stepped closer and squeezed her arm. He started to thank Chuck for helping to watch his sons when the man sighed. “See, I knew he’d be fine. He’s such a cute little thing.” Chuck tickled the boy’s neck. “Just like your Uncle Chuck—gonna be a lady killer.”
“In your dreams,” Cheri muttered.
Chapter 15 3
Two days before New Year’s Day, Chad awoke at twelve-thirty in the afternoon, reached for his watch, and grabbed Willow’s journal instead. Pulling the blankets up around his chin, he read her last entry with a smile on his lips.
December 26-
Grandmom and Granddad spent Christmas here this year. Uncle Kyle and Aunt Sheryl were here too as were their children. It’s hard to think of people my age as someone’s children, but then, I am Mother’s child, so it makes sense in an awkward sort of way. Bethel Ann doesn’t like me. I’ve tried to brush it off as shyness, not trusting the daughter of the woman who broke the family’s heart and deliberately at that. However, after a full day of snide remarks about the boys, telling me about all the things our grandparents did with her and for her, and with the general unease every time she opened her mouth, I am forced to conclude that she’s threatened by my existence. She was always the “only granddaughter” and treated like the family princess. I guess she thinks she’s been de-throned.
So, aside from that little petite bundle of negativity, the day was really quite nice. I had fun making gifts for everyone, and everyone but Bethel Ann seemed to like their gifts. Apparently, personalized journals are “so 2002” whatever that means. That snide remark did get her a sharp reproof from Uncle Kyle. I felt badly, but how was I to know that the only thing appropriate to give teenagers was a gift card? I am still recuperating from Cheri’s silly gift card spree last year—the year before—whenever it was.
Chad loved his saddle blanket. I wasted a lot of wool and knitting on that thing until I got it right, but after a long time of boiling and then cutting to the right shape, I did it. Lacey should be one very happy equine. I hope he doesn’t tell her I made it. She’ll probably try to thank me with those fat hairy lips of hers. Eew.
At the risk of being ungrateful, I must say now that I don’t understand children’s toys. I made the boys felt blocks and busy books. Chad made them each a few interlocking train pieces out of a wood kit he found on the Internet. I really need to learn more about that. It’s amazing how often he tells me something or comes home with something I needed and says, “Oh, I found it on the Internet.” That’s off topic though. His parents, my grandparents, Aggie and Luke, and even Uncle Kyle all bought the children brightly colored (cute!) plastic toys. I liked them. I thought they’d be easy to wash when they got dirty, but then out came the batteries. Every one of those things requires batteries. Furthermore, they’re the noisiest piles of obnoxiousness I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter. All I want for Christmas is a battery thief. I tried to take the silly batteries out after everyone left, but Chad thought I’d put them in to charge again and replaced them. If he’s reading this, he should know that I hate those things with a passion he’s never seen before. He doesn’t want to see it. Trust me.
Ryder has been distant this past week. He’s missed work twice and been late almost every other day. To say that things are out of sync around here is an understatement. I’ve been grateful for Iris Landry’s help—even more than usual lately for obvious reasons. Without it, I would have had to let the plants in the greenhouse go. If I have to choose between the farm expansion and my children, there is no choice. Period. However, if Ryder finds himself unable to work, I can try to find another college student that is interested in our life here, or maybe that British guy, Nigel. He’s been working on Judith’s house, but that can’t last forever. Meanwhile, I find it odd. Ryder has been off school for two weeks and has another four before he goes back again. You’d think he’d have more time than usual for us and yet he’s been here less than during classes. I’m afraid I need to sit him down and talk to him.
Chad just came in to tell me that Ryder asked if he and Chelsea could come out to talk with us. I have a sinking feeling that she’s the reason for his absence and that I’m going to hear they’ve gotten engaged or something. I thought he made sense after Thanksgiving, and he’s acted like his old self again, but now this. I can’t think what else it could be.
I hear my little lads. I guess I need to quit writing about a whole lot of nothing and enjoy even more somethings with my guys. I think Liam is going to walk any day. He zips around furniture faster than I can catch him before he crashes to the floor. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to care. I asked Chad about the potential for permanent brain damage from all the knocks on the furniture and floors, but Chad says that it just knocks sense into them, and without it, they’d be idiots. I’m going with his interpretation for my sanity, but I confess, it doesn’t make sense to me.
So many of her entries these days were filled with productivity lists, the boys’ milestones, and plans for the future. The little tidbits that read more like her mother’s average journal entries were his favorites. Oh, Kari had written her share of laundry lists of factoids to reference at a later date, but the sheer size of their enterprise now demanded much more of her journaling time.
The entry about Ryder concerned him as well. They’d been so relieved to hear about the potential scholarship and Ryder’s eagerness to avoid a serious relationship so early in his educational career. When Willow shared her opinion of his teaching skills, the young man had seemed eager to talk to his college counselors about it. Ryder wasn’t the kind of guy who called to make an appointment for a discussion. Something was up, and Chad was sure he’d be announcing his intention to move to Chicago to be with Chelsea at the very least. An engagement seemed equally likely.
Willow peeked her head around the door. “I’ve got coffee, chili, cornbread, and ice cream sundaes downstairs. They’ll be here in an hour, so if you want a shower…”
“Hey, c’mere.”
The thick braid whacked his face as she bent to kiss him. “That’s what you get for lounging around in bed reading rather than controlling your children.”
“They’re in bed.”
“They are now! I just put them there.” She swung he
r braid at him again.
“See, I know when to get up and when to stay in bed.”
Grabbing the blankets, Willow jerked the covers from him and carried them out the door. “If you want to stay warm, come get them.”
Twenty minutes later, freshly shaven and starving, Chad arrived in the kitchen to find his lunch sitting on the table and Willow pounding bread with a vengeance. “Does that make you feel better?”
“No, but it’ll make the bread taste better.”
“He’s a man, Willow.”
She sent a withering look in Chad’s direction. “He’s acting like a child.”
“We don’t even know what he wants.”
“He’s bringing her with him. To talk. It must be serious, Chad. You don’t bring a girlfriend with you to tell your boss that you’re quitting or you made the deacon’s list.”
“Dean’s”
“Whatever.”
“How modern you’re getting.” Chad’s teasing didn’t make her smile as it usually did. “You’re covered in flour, lass.”
“Good thing I’ve got on an apron then, isn’t it?”
“Your nose doesn’t have one.”
“Well then, you know what to get me for Valentine’s Day.”
Laughing, he carried his empty bowl to the sink, wondering as he went, how he’d finished so quickly. “I must have been hungry, and don’t tempt me. I wonder if Mom knows someone who sews.”
“She does. Me. So there you have it.”
A knock on the door sent Willow’s eyes flying to the clock. “They’re half an hour early!” She stared down at the dough on her hands. “Well, they’ll just have to talk in here. I’m not going to waste good dough just because they can’t come on time.”
Chad led the couple into the kitchen and pulled out chairs. “Willow is in the middle of bread ,and you don’t come between a Finley woman and her work.”
“We’re early. We sat around Chelsea’s house until we couldn’t take it anymore. Sorry.”
“Get them sundaes, Chad.”
Chelsea shook her head. “No thanks. I—no thanks.”
One of the most awkward silences of Chad’s life nearly smothered them in the room until Willow’s fist slammed into the pile of dough and she said, “You said you had something to talk to us about?”
“Lass…” his low warning tone wasn’t lost on her, but she ignored it and he knew it.
“We have a problem. Possibly a big one.”
“Possibly? You’re kidding me, right? Possibly?” Chelsea’s voice was pitched high enough to earn her a spot as a soprano in opera.
“Chels…”
“Are you quitting Ryder?” Willow’s voice held an edge that Chad recognized. It was her ‘You’d better not say what I don’t want to hear, or I’m going to blast you’ tone.
“No! I—No!”
“Just tell her, Ryder. My parents will be home in two hours!”
With a face as miserable as any Chad had ever seen, Ryder looked up at him, ignoring Willow’s questioning gaze, and said, “Chelsea is pregnant.”
“Oh, Ryder.” Without another word, Willow dusted her palms off onto the dough and went to put her arms around Chelsea. “Are you ok?”
“I am not ok! Why the h—”
“Chels!”
“Why on earth would you think I’m ok? I’m pregnant! I’m seventeen, pregnant, and my life is ruined.”
“That’s a lie.” Chad winced at the words as Willow spoke them. Leave it to Willow not to let someone exaggerate the truth at a time like that.
“What!”
“Your life isn’t ruined. Put on hold, adjusted, made more difficult, yes. Ruined no. Lying to yourself like that just perpetuates the negativity.”
“What do you know about it? You’re infertile!” Chelsea’s tears flowed freely now.
“C’mon, Chelsea. Being cruel isn’t going to solve anything.” Ryder sounded disgusted.
Before things went downhill any further, Chad decided to find out why the not-so-happy couple was telling them this news. “What did your parents say to it?”
“We haven’t told them yet. They get in town this afternoon.”
“So why are you here?” Willow beat him to the question. “I would think telling them first—”
“We—” Ryder choked. “That is—”
Chelsea threw Ryder a disgusted look. “My mom is really into all the pro-life stuff. She’s not going to sign for an abortion, and I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with that anyway. So we’re going to give the baby up for adoption, and Ryder wants you to consider it.”
“Adoption?” Willow’s voice sounded strangled.
With an arm around his wife’s shoulder, Chad squeezed it to tell her to let him handle the discussion. Fortunately, she picked up on his cue before she blasted the girl for even considering an abortion. “Chelsea, how do you feel about asking us to consider adoption?”
The girl began weeping. “I don’t know. I just want it over with. Ryder thought that if we had a plan in place before we talked to my parents, they wouldn’t freak out as badly.”
“I don’t think you should be asking us to do this unless you’re sure. What if your parents are more understanding than you anticipate? What if they want you to keep the baby?”
“No!” She looked embarrassed, but the resolute expression on her face couldn’t be ignored. “Sorry, but no. I’m not ready to be a mom. I don’t want a baby. I don’t think I want an abortion either, and a pregnancy is going to be gross and disgusting, but the baby has to go.”
“We’ll do it.”
Willow’s voice was quiet, but firm. Chad stared at her, stunned, and then beckoned her. “Will you excuse us? We need to talk about this privately for a minute.”
They grabbed their coats and walked silently to the barn. Just inside the door, Chad slammed his fist against the wall. “Will you tell me exactly what you’re doing?”
“I’m agreeing to adopt that child.”
“Without us discussing it.” He used the tone he hoped would warn her that she’d crossed one of those lines she never understood, but it didn’t.
“What is there to discuss? She doesn’t want the baby; Ryder would get to see his child if it came to live with us, and she’s mentioned abortion twice. If she keeps talking, she’s going to desensitize herself to the idea, and that baby is going to die.”
“Not without her mother’s consent.”
Closing her eyes, Willow took a deep breath and then nearly leveled him with a disgusted glare. “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you? Weren’t you the one telling me just a week ago about how the school nurse took a girl off campus to get an abortion in the city? Weren’t you the one telling me that the girl’s parents filed a complaint, but there was nothing you could do about it because the law states that while under the school’s care the school can do as they see best regarding their students’ medical care? Didn’t you show me the form parents sign when they enroll the students that gives those same school officials the right to make that choice?”
“That baby would be born sixteen—”
“Seventeen I think.”
He nodded, “Seventeen months after the boys. That’s cutting it close age wise.”
“Are you saying you are unwilling to adopt this child?” The shock in her face was almost his undoing.
“No, lass. I’m saying you can’t just agree to adopt a child without us discussing it. It’s a bit sudden for me just to agree willy-nilly.”
She chewed her lip for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right. How about this. We tell them it’s something we’ll consider. That way, they can tell Chelsea’s parents that they have a couple considering adoption, which is the truth, but doesn’t leave us committed.”
“Deal.”
As the barn swung open, Chad’s voice murmured low in her ear, “Have you thought about names yet?”
Willow gazed up at him. “How about we do that after they leave.”
C
hapter 154
As her living room erupted in arguments, Willow pinched the bridge of her nose, folded her hands, clenched her fists, and eventually stood and screamed, “I cannot stand this!”
From the corner, Chad smirked. Marianne glanced at him and then at Willow. Jostling Liam on her knee, her eyes moved to Carol and then back to Chad again. “What, Chad?”
“I just can’t believe, after all this time, that you guys don’t know Willow well enough to know that animated arguments against something she obviously wants to do is an effective way of getting her to do that very thing.”
“Stuff it, Chad.”
“Furthermore,” he added, ignoring his wife’s admonition, “I can’t believe the people who taught me that the reason the abortion industry is so successful is because Christians aren’t willing to step up and make self-sacrificial decisions are now sitting in my living room telling me how it’s too much for us to attempt.”
“You don’t have to be the single-handed savior of all mankind, Chad!” Marianne snuggled the baby closer. “These boys need their mother’s and father’s full attention.”
Chad shook his head. “So if Willow brought you two pink lines tomorrow, you’d be upset.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t! That’s a terrible thing to say.” Marianne stared at her husband as Christopher choked on his coffee. “What!”
“Don’t ever tell me again how hypocritical the Wheelers are about favoring their biological grandchildren over the two that Jayne and Mitch adopted.”
Chad’s mother had the decency to blush. “That’s not what I meant, it’s just that—” She fought to explain herself. “I mean, if Chad and Willow were talking about this in two years, I’d be all for it. If she got pregnant today, it’d obviously be something the Lord blessed them with—”
“But our God, in His infinite grace and mercy, couldn’t possibly be blessing us with a baby right now, unless it is biological. I’m really glad He doesn’t feel that way about us when we come to Him for adoption.” Willow’s eyes flashed. “I can see it now, ‘Sorry my child-to-be, I’m a bit overburdened with children at the moment, but if you can wait a year or two, oh and pray you don’t die in the meantime, then I’ll be happy to make you one of my own children.’” She stood and grabbed her empty cup. “I expected opposition, but I expected it from an entirely different angle. I never thought I’d see Christians willing to risk abortion or that an unsaved girl would give the child to unsaved parents. Frankly, I’m disgusted.”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 5 Page 11
