“Some of the early journals show that,” Chad admitted, “but I don’t see it in the later ones.”
“Like I said. It’s just something I noticed. The older she got, the more reclusive they were and that seemed to fuel a growing paranoia about the world outside them.”
“Well, that leads to my next question.” The words stuck in Chad’s throat before he found his voice again. “What concerns should we have about lawsuits?”
Seconds passed slowly as Chad waited for an answer. He watched the trees swaying in the breeze, felt the touch of it on his nose and ears, and wondered what changes would blow their way in the next weeks. Would their world fall apart with a lawsuit that devastated them financially? Would they end up living in town in a little bungalow and he work fulltime again?
“I think we should take this to Renee. I know there are insurance policies, but I’m not a legal representative. I can’t advise you—not legally or morally. I can only tell you what is in place, but I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Bill cleared his throat. “Kari was thorough—about everything. If she could prepare for this, she did. I just don’t know if she could.”
“Do I call Renee or should you?”
“Let me do it,” Bill insisted. “It won’t be on your phone records or anything then. You won’t look like you were scrambling if anyone decides to look at stuff like that—can they even do that?”
Chad sighed. “I can’t think. I think so—well, the police could. Can a court? I don’t know. Thanks.”
“It’ll be okay, Chad. In as much as she could, Kari provided for so much. I suspect that if she killed a man, she found a way to protect them from financial ruin because of it. The corporation will help some, but I don’t know about laws to override that. Bill sighed, the sound almost ominous in Chad’s ear. “One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I haven’t brought it up, but there is quite a bit of legal stuff with Solari. She’s in the will. If it ever gets to the point where they actually disperse the accounts, she’ll have more coming from him.”
Bile rose in Chad’s throat as he disconnected the call. “Could it get any worse?”
Willow stared out the window, watching as the big machinery drove up the lane, through the fields, and out of sight behind the barn. Digging. Destroying her land—Mother’s land. For what? Proof of what they already knew? How could that car prove anything except that Mother didn’t confess to a crime she hadn’t committed. Ridiculous.
Her eyes slid toward the door-shaped hole in the wall. Almost seventy-two hours and she had yet to look in there. Willow’s eyes traveled upwards as if she could see into the boys’ room and hear them sleeping or stirring. Twice she stepped toward the doorway, her eyes riveted to the floor. Twice she stepped back.
Oh, God help me get past this! Her soul wailed in anguish over something that made no sense. Why was it such a terrifying thing for her? The body was no longer there—no longer encased in concrete. The bathtub was gone if she understood Chad correctly. The room held something over her, gripping her in a terror she didn’t quite understand.
A wave of nausea washed over her. Willow hurried outside, allowing the cool air to take away the sick feeling in her gut. It’s just a room. The man didn’t even die in there. She stared down at the porch—out in to the yard. Where exactly had the poor man been standing? Had he pleaded for mercy? Run? Did he think she was bluffing and tried to step closer? Had that move been the one that made the decision for Mother?
Her feelings about the porch and yard didn’t change. She had no discomfort at all in exploring any of them except that she knew people could see her out there. Is this how Aggie had felt with news vans camped at the end of her little driveway? Prisoner in her own home. That’s what it was.
Willow turned with a determination she usually reserved for someone trying to change her life. The thought made her smile. This time she’d direct that determination inward. She was the culprit this time. She was changing her life simply by allowing fear to dictate how she felt in her own home. Well, not anymore.
Her hands gripped the doorjambs and illogically, she wondered how she’d have the lovely carved trim for around it that every other room in the house had. She couldn’t do it—and yet, how fitting if she did. That was a thought for another time.
Willow’s nose wrinkled in distaste as the musty scent of mold and mildew assaulted her with the first step inside. Where a bathtub had once sat remained nothing but part of a tub surround in the ugliest green imaginable. That would have to go. Thankfully, the toilet was white—sink too. The medicine cabinet door hung partially open. That must be where the envelope was.
“Be sure your sin will find you out,” she whispered. “How many times did you say that to me, Mother? Did you think of this when you said it? Were you ever tempted to tell me? Would you ever have told me?” That question wrung her heart and sent a lone tear coursing down her cheek. Mother would not have told her. She would have taken the information to the police—unaware of the intrusions that would come. Mother knew. Mother protected.
Mother hurt all alone with secrets she didn’t know how to carry. That thought brought another tear. Covering sin rarely worked—never in the long run. Eternally speaking, each thought, action, word—all unveiled and lain open before the Lamb of God. The thought wrenched her heart. She wouldn’t like to see what hers looked like through the lens of God’s purity.
The call came as the third tear slid down her face. She smiled and then her heart squeezed as she realized it wasn’t likely one of their casual weekly chats. “Hello Grandmom.”
“Are you all right?”
Strange—no one had asked that question. “No. I’m not.” She swallowed hard, blinking back any other tears that might try to escape. “But I will be once the Lord does His work.” Her lips trembled and she added before Carol could respond. “It’s the right thing to say. Somewhere in me I believe it. I just don’t feel it. I feel like it’s a lie.”
“I know. It’s so hard. I thought to come, but David didn’t know if it would be better or worse for you. He’s so worried about you.”
“Chad won’t let anything happen to us.”
Carol’s smile—heartbroken as it was—managed to make itself heard through the phone. “I meant that he—well both of us really—are worried about your heart. This can’t be the mother you knew. It’s not the daughter we knew.”
“It’s not. Mother wouldn’t—well, I guess that isn’t true, is it? She did.” A new thought struck her sending her from the room to the couch. Willow curled in the corner and whispered, “But it was.”
“What was?”
“It was the mother I knew. I just never really thought about it. If you had driven up our drive, Mother would have met you in the yard with the shotgun. I never doubted that she’d shoot to protect us. I never thought she’d need to, but I always knew she’d do it if she thought it necessary. That’s what she did. It’s horrible and tragic, but she shot a man she thought was there to hurt me. She defended me. As awful as it turned out, she meant only to protect.”
Carol’s voice choked and the line seemed to go dead. Willow stared at the phone, occasionally saying, “Hello?” until she was ready to disconnect the call. Just as her thumb slid to the button, she heard her grandfather’s voice.
“Willow?”
“Granddad? Is everything all right?”
“No, but it will be—somehow.”
“I was talking with Grandmom and then she was gone.”
David’s voice, deep and husky with repressed emotion both soothed and cut her as he said, “It’s hard on her. It’s hard on all of us, I imagine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Willow,” her grandfather’s voice took on a stern tone she rarely heard but nearly always heeded. “This isn’t your sin. My daughter answers for her own mistakes. They’re not grandfathered into your life for you to bear.”
“That article�
�just one article—gave you so much trouble when it came out. I can’t imagine what this is going to do to you. Uncle Kyle and his children—”
“Let us worry about that.”
Long after the call disconnected, Willow sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her head resting on them. What would it mean? Would more people hurt? Of course, they would. That was the nature of sin. It snowballed, picking up momentum and size until it crashed and exploded all over… something.
When the first wail from the boys sounded upstairs, Willow practically bolted to the stairs. Taking them two at a time, she counted—the words sticking in her throat on ten. She pulled them from their crib, changed and redressed them, and stood at their bedroom window, her eyes straining to see the progress outside.
How long she stood there, Willow couldn’t remember, but by the time she turned away, a light, fresh dusting of snow covered the ground and her boys screamed for their dinner.
Chapter 159
At two o’clock, Chad dragged himself up the steps and into the kitchen. Chili and cornbread waited for him on the warming shelf of the kitchen stove. Such a long and exhausting week. Between normal farm work, his job, and the excavation of the vehicle from their field, he’d barely had a moment to relax. Each day he had stumbled home from work, collapsed in bed, and then got up and did it all over without any time to unwind.
The sheriff’s department had finished their excavation and investigation, but the Tesdall’s nightmare had just begun. Once the media grabbed the story, their name, life, and history had been dragged through more muck than even he’d imagined. Thankfully, after the first day, Willow hadn’t asked about what was happening anymore and had been too busy to go into town. He planned to do everything possible to avoid her going for the next month. Hopefully, by then a new sensation would grab the inhabitants of the Rockland area.
He felt jittery—too mentally keyed up to sleep and too physically exhausted to do anything but sleep. As he passed through the living room, Chad noticed Willow’s journal half-covered by a stack of fabrics—obviously a new shipment from Boho. At least the news hadn’t delayed shipment. A few minutes lost in his wife’s latest thoughts and activities seemed like the perfect end to a horrible week.
March—
It’s been one of the worst weeks of my life. Mother’s death was obviously one of those, and then there was the time when I kept Chad away from me. Those were horrible weeks, but this is just a whole new level of awfulness. My mother murdered a man to protect me. A man’s family suffered for over two decades, wondering where he went, why he didn’t come home, if he’d abandoned them, or if he had some horrible thing happen.
I’ve decided fear is a terrible thing. Mother used fear to protect us. I understand how and why, but I don’t want to use fear with my boys and with the new child that I pray we still get to have. I can’t help but wonder if Chelsea and her family will refuse to let their child enter such a tainted home. It’s strange how people think. I never can understand it. Somehow, I have to learn a new way to teach my children caution and yet ensure they learn to trust the Lord rather than listen to their fear. It’s strange; I always saw Mother as a very strong and courageous woman. She seemed the epitome of reliant faith and trust, but I see now that along with all of that was the kind of mind-numbing fear that can destroy faith. In many ways, Mother trusted herself more than her Lord. Do I do that? I’d like to ask Chad, but I don’t think I’m ready for the answer.
Chad is weary. I see him flexing his hand, which is usually an indicator of physical overwork, but he won’t rest. He seems eager to be away from us right now. I can’t decide if it’s to protect us, or if the sting of what this all could mean just hurts more when he’s near me. I refuse to believe that there is not a way to use this to help him in his career rather than allow it to damage it. Perhaps there is more of my grandfather in me than I like to admit.
Granddad and Grandmom Finley have been devastated by this. Some of their friends have shunned them, and Granddad has stepped down as an elder in their church. I understand why, but I hate it. It kills me that Mother’s mistake is damaging so many lives and so long after it happened. She used to say, “Willow, every action you take has far-reaching consequences—both good and bad. Make sure when you choose actions that you can live with the resulting consequences.” I now know a little bit of what she meant.
On a brighter note, Lucas walked today. He saw me in the kitchen doorway, stood in the middle of the floor, and toddled right up to me as if he’d been doing it for years. Oh, his little feet were unsteady and he stumbled twice, but he just got up and walked as if it was normal. Liam seems quite disgusted. He has tried to follow in his brother’s footsteps, but every time he lifts that foot without his hand steadying him on furniture, down he goes. The wails are of absolute fury and frustration, not because he injures himself on the twelve inches from bum to floor.
We put the second greenhouse plans on hold during the excavation, but now that there are no more sheriff cars coming and going
Chad smiled at the abrupt stop. Had Liam fallen in another attempt and hurt himself that time? Did she get a phone call, have to change a diaper, or realize how late it was and stopped mid-sentence?
He hadn’t realized how personally she’d take the potential damage to his career. He also hadn’t realized that he’d been aloof. His attempts to protect her from media garbage had done little more than make her feel alienated. He’d have to remedy that.
“Lord, I had no idea when I wanted to open that bathroom that we’d be dealing with this kind of thing. Now what do I do with it?”
April Fools’ Day hit and Chad found himself awake in a quiet house, and with nothing to do. He glanced at the clock. The darkness of the room made it impossible to see. His hand reached to push the shades out of the way and his eyes strained to adjust to light. After ten o’clock. She’s off with Chelsea to the doctor.
A glance in the boys’ room told him she’d taken them with her. That left him relieved. At least she hadn’t told him to keep an ear out for them. As exhausted as he was, he might have slept through their cries—at first anyway.
Downstairs he found a note—one of her “short” ones lasting only just over a page. In it, she told of her plans, asked him to check “his animal,” and suggested that he bring home oak molding for new door trim. “‘I’m going to try my hand at carving something,’ he read aloud, “‘something like a simple vine with leaves maybe. What do you think?’”
Chad grabbed a muffin and poured a mug of coffee. The bathroom still stood open—cleaner now that Willow had scrubbed it down, but even Luke’s careful cuts and sanded edges looked rough compared to the rest of the room. He ran his hand over where the hinges still hung as if waiting for the other half—the pin. That was what was in the medicine cabinet!
As much as he really wanted a full breakfast, Chad’s eagerness to get one thing done that he knew would relax her overrode the call of a man for his meal. He grabbed gloves and a jacket before climbing his way into the attic. Experience had taught him that the entire top floor of the house had little insulation between it and the roof above, but Kari had obviously insulated well between the attic and second floors. His nose immediately felt the cold.
The door remained elusive at first. The place he remembered seeing it held a few shelving boards and nothing else—just as he’d remembered aside from the door being “something else.” It wasn’t on the wall, used as a table as he’d once seen, or in the rafters above him. However, as he started back downstairs, he saw it—right beside the stairs. “Willow. She was going to do it herself. Probably got sidetracked by the lads.”
It needed a good scrubbing which normally would have prompted him to go out for a garden hose, but he hadn’t pulled them from the barn yet, and well, Chad didn’t really care to do it. So, he carried it into the kitchen and began wiping it down. After the fourth kitchen rag, he considered the laziness he had displayed proof of why laziness would never be virtuous
. “She’s gonna kill me,” he muttered as he stared at the growing pile of rags.
Once hung, Chad stood back to admire his work. They’d have to paint it. The colors were so far off that it looked bad even to him. Willow’s color aesthetic would likely send her straight to town. That thought brought a smile. “Bet a piece of cheesecake she goes.”
Still, despite the deficiencies of hue and—whatever you call the colors and their nuances—the room looked better even without trim and paint. “Food. Now let’s get some food—and maybe put something in for dinner.”
Willow found him in the barn, cleaning a scrape from Lacey’s leg. She waddled up to the stall, one boy strapped to each hip with her slings, and watched him. “I saw that and got worried. Seems like I read something about horses having to be put down for bad infections in the leg.”
“Well, I doubt it would have gotten that bad,” Chad said kissing her and ruffling the boys’ heads, “but I think it’s best to get it taken care of.”
“So,” Willow had had enough of horses for a day—or year. “Want to hear what the doctor said about gender?”
“I thought you had another month before that ultrasound.”
She beamed. “I did, but the doctor heard the heartbeat nice and clearly. Said it’s in the ‘girl’ range and laughed. Chelsea says that this means it’s either a boy or a girl.” She snickered at the confused look on Chad’s face.
“Didn’t we kind of know that?”
“What she means is that her mom will say that because it’s a ‘girl’ heartbeat, it must be a boy. Apparently, all her babies were opposite the old wives’ tale. However, Ryder’s mom said he was spot on for the heartbeat thing, so she’ll say it’s a girl.” She wrapped arms around her squirming boys and squeezed them. “So, I’ve decided to buy pink and blue, make something for both, and appease all the heartbeat gods.”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 5 Page 15
