Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 5

by Chautona Havig

  “When do you work next? I can’t remember.”

  “I work at two tomorrow afternoon and then I’m off for two days.”

  She reached for the door handle. “Go home, Chad. You need to sleep. The safety of our lovely town requires it.”

  As the tail lights of his truck disappeared down the street, Willow swallowed the lump in her throat and fought back tears. “He needed to go, Lord. I just needed—or at last wanted—him to stay.”

  All the hustle and bustle of the hospital during the day disappeared at night—except in the obstetrics wing. A woman screaming in a room two doors down from Chelsea sent nurses scrambling. Seconds later, another burst of people rushed to the other side of the wing. Willow stepped into Chelsea’s room and found her and Ryder talking quietly. “How’s it going?”

  “Better here than in there. Why do people think it’s so great to go ‘natural?’ Ugh. Mom says that when her mom had her, they just gassed her and she woke up with a baby. I think that sounds pretty much perfect.”

  “Have they checked you recently?”

  The girl nodded. “Yeah. She said I was an eight-nine about thirty minutes ago.” The girl sighed. “Of course, then she told me that I’ll probably push for two hours.”

  “Really?”

  “I think something’s happening though. I can’t feel much in my legs and the contractions are ‘there’ but that’s about it. But I feel pressure ‘down there.’”

  Willow nodded. “Well, that’s good, right? Maybe it means the baby is getting into place so you won’t have to push so much.”

  “Maybe. It comes and goes in waves like contractions, so I thought maybe it was just everything pushing things into place.”

  “I could go ask a nurse…” Before she could turn, Chelsea shifted and the blanket slipped. Willow frowned. “Chelsea, are you feeling that pressure right now?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  She hesitated. “Mind if I look?”

  At Chelsea’s nod, Willow pulled back the blanket and blinked. “Strange, I thought I saw—”

  “The pressure is gone now. Does that help?”

  “Maybe… Don’t tell me when it comes back. Let me tell you when I think it does. Does it get stronger each time?”

  “Yeah… why?”

  “It’s building now, isn’t it!” Willow’s eyes widened. “Ryder, go get a nurse!”

  “Why—”

  “Go!”

  Chelsea’s eyes widened in fear. “What!”

  “I see hair—not yours. And oh… boy!”

  “Girl. It’s a girl, remember,” the girl gasped.

  The head slipped back inside as the contraction ended. “I think if you tried to push when the next pressure builds… just pretended you were going to go to the bathroom… I think that baby would come.”

  “Really? They said hours!”

  All exhaustion left Chelsea’s voice. Willow could almost see the adrenaline coursing through the girl’s veins as it worked its magic. “It’s building, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah… push?”

  “Go for it.”

  “Without the nurse?”

  “Do you want to wait?” The idea seemed preposterous to her, but what did she know?

  “No!”

  Grabbing the rails on the bed, Chelsea gave a push that Willow could see take effect. “Keep going… I think… oh drat.”

  “It went back in again?” The girl gasped, panting. “Water?”

  Willow glanced around for Ryder and gave up. After a drink of water, cool rag to the girl’s forehead, and a quick scrub of the hands, Willow glanced into the hall and rushed back to the bed as she saw Chelsea nearly pull herself upright and gave another mighty push.

  “Pressure, eh… wow. I wish I knew if it was safe to pull on that head. I can almost grab it.”

  “Do it!”

  She shook her head. “Can’t. I have no idea if that’s safe.”

  “Please!”

  But the head slipped back inside once more. Willow dashed for the door and glared at Ryder. “What are you doing! Get someone!” she hissed.

  He shrugged and circled the wing again, but Willow couldn’t wait to see. As she stepped back in the room, the nurse call button practically glowed at her. “Oh, brother.” She punched the button and went to check Chelsea again. “Okay, do you feel pressure?”

  “Not yet. Why?”

  “The head didn’t go back as far this time. Maybe?”

  Determination set in Chelsea’s face. “I’m pushing this time until that baby gets out of here. I’m done.”

  As if to prove her point, Chelsea held her breath, tucked her chin, grabbed the rails, and pushed, slowly exhaling as she did. This time, the baby’s head completely emerged. “You did it!”

  “I did? How can I not feel that?”

  “Those epidurals can be amazing.”

  Chelsea looked down, trying to see what Willow was doing. “Where is the baby?”

  “Just waiting for you to get another contraction.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can push out the body?” Willow saw movement from the corner of her eye and called to Ryder. “Tell them to hurry! The baby is half born!”

  “I’m trying, but I just can’t walk into some woman’s room and take away the nurse!”

  “There’s no one in the halls?” It seemed inconceivable.

  “I’ve seen two and both said they’d be here in just a moment. They don’t believe me when I say that the baby is coming now.”

  “Well,” Willow snapped, “go tell them that they’re almost too late. The head is born!”

  Before she finished speaking, Chelsea pulled herself up and bore down again, shaking with the exertion. Despite the poor girl’s weeks of labor and pain-filled hours and exhaustion, baby Kari slipped into Willow’s hands with deceptive ease. Her tiny cry echoed faintly around the room, and Chelsea collapsed against the pillows, spent.

  Ryder stepped in the room, eyes wide. “Did I hear—”

  “Yep. Go tell those nurses that couldn’t be bothered that we did fine without them, but we’d like help knowing what to do about the placenta. I don’t remember anything about placentas. My brain is blank. Oh, and will you text Chad? Oh! And what time is it?” Her eyes rose to the clock. “Wow, eleven eleven. That was fast. I got here around ten-thirty.”

  “Glad something was fast about this,” Chelsea murmured.

  Without a blanket to cover the baby, Willow reached for the sheet and pulled it over the infant, wrapping her gently. “Sorry, Chelsea. She looked cold.”

  “Why isn’t she crying anymore?”

  Willow shrugged. “She’s just blinking as if trying to focus.”

  “But she’s breathing, right?”

  “Yep.”

  Chelsea rose up on her elbows. “Can I see?”

  “Want to hold her?”

  “Not yet. Just want to see that she’s really here.”

  The appearance of the nurse cut off Willow’s response. The woman stared at Willow holding the baby wrapped in a sheet that hung nearly to the floor. “Did you cut the cord?”

  “No. I didn’t have anything to do that with. I figured someone would come eventually.”

  The nurse, Loretta, shook her head as she surveyed the scene. “I don’t believe it. She was going so slow and we had—whatever. Let me see. Did you suction her—him—out?”

  “Her. With what?”

  “Call Dr. Kline’s service and tell them to get him here immediately. I’ll take her…”

  Willow went to wash her hands and glanced over at Chelsea, “Well, that’ll make for a fun story someday.”

  “Maybe for you,” the girl muttered. “I, for one, would love to forget this whole thing.”

  Chapter 177

  Dawn broke over the countryside surrounding Fairbury, slowly filling their bedroom with the pinky glow of early morning light. Chad rolled over and felt the empty bed beside him. He inched his way across the bed and peered into th
e cradle. Empty as well. A smile crept over his face.

  He found her downstairs, half-reclining on the couch, Kari asleep on her chest. Oh, Lord. Look at that. Can you just look at that?

  She shifted, one eye opening as the baby stretched. “Hey…”

  “Can I just say,” Chad murmured, “waking up to see my girls like this—could life be any more perfect?”

  Willow gave him a lazy grin. “Um, yes. Yes it could. She could have a fresh diaper.”

  “Disposable or washable?”

  “She still had a bit of meconium last time. Better stick with the disposables.” Willow shifted and the baby stretched again. “I love watching her stretch. I don’t remember the boys doing that!”

  “I don’t either.” Chad lifted his daughter and cradled her. The baby shifted, whimpering. “Shh… Kar-i-lee… Let’s get you clean again while mommy,” he gave Willow a pointed look, “goes back to bed.”

  “I was going to milk the goats first.”

  “I’ll get the goats.”

  “And Kari?” She stood, stretching.

  “If she doesn’t fall back to sleep, I’ll bring her up.”

  He changed his daughter, tried to soothe her back to sleep, and when Kari refused to settle, he carried her back up to Willow and grabbed his clothes. “I’ll come get her when I’m done.”

  Life already had a new rhythm. Becca arrived to help with the goats, but Chad sent her to feed the chickens and gather eggs. Mornings of just he and Willow working together seemed over, and that thought discouraged him. Perhaps they should have “family” chickens and a single goat. Then again, they would have new things to do together, and life had proven that change would be constant.

  He poured the milk into bottles, marking the date as he went. Milk pails glistened in the morning light after he scalded each one. Chad released the goats into the pasture for the day and stopped to pick up a kettle of boiling water before he strolled back to the house.

  Oats in bowls, hot water covering them, plates on top. He stepped into the pantry for peaches and realized they’d already eaten the last jar. “Wonder if they’re ripe…”

  He reached for cherries and hesitated. She’d love fresh peaches—even more than he would. Without giving him a chance to talk himself into cherries, Chad hurried out the door and down the back steps. Becca saw him and waved. “Need something?”

  He shook his head. “Gonna check to see if peaches are ripe.”

  “Oh—canning today?”

  Chad shrugged. “I’ll ask. Want a peach if they’re ready?”

  “Sure!” She nodded at the crate of eggs in her arms. “I could go after I put these away if you want.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve got it.”

  Around the barns, past the alfalfa fields—they needed to cut those—and over to the orchard. Dew on the high grasses dampened his jeans, but Chad ignored them. He reached up and squeezed a peach. It seemed ripe, but he moved on, squeezing, touching, trying to gauge which would be best. A gentle tug—that’s what Willow had suggested would indicate perfect ripeness—released a peach. He sniffed it, squeezing again. Not too firm, not mushy. Yellow skin with a blush. Chad rubbed his shirttail and took a bite. Perfect. With one success behind him, he found several more.

  Willow’s snapdragon patch tempted him. He hurried inside, set his peaches on the counter, and grabbed the kitchen shears. Within minutes, he had a nice vase of flowers on the kitchen table and their breakfast was ready. She’d appreciate that.

  He jogged up the stairs and leaned against the doorjamb and watched as Willow rocked their daughter. “Hungry?”

  “No, she ate already.”

  “I meant you,” Chad murmured.

  “What do we have?”

  “Oatmeal and fresh peaches. I thought about making sausage, but…”

  “Then we’d have to start the stove. Not on your day off.” She nodded at the sleeping infant. “Take her? I’ll go get dressed.” As he reached for his daughter she smiled. “Is it terrible that I’m glad I have no recovery? I can carry her, go up and down stairs, lift the boys, work—I can work!”

  He hesitated, his hand brushing her cheek. “It wasn’t that bad, was it? I—”

  “Chad,” she interrupted, “I wasn’t complaining. I wouldn’t trade any of it with the boys for anything. I’m just enjoying the benefits of adoption too. “

  “Just making sure. Kari and I are going to go say hi to Portia and see if Becca needs anything. Take a shower first. Give me a holler when you get downstairs.”

  With his daughter cradled in his arm, Chad descended the stairs, talking to her. “Your mama is the most amazing woman. Did you know that she can do anything! Anything! Well, anything that doesn’t require work with a saw. She’s pathetic with wood.”

  The lads played in the orchard, chasing Portia and then running from her as the dog urged them back to Willow’s side. Kari slept in the playpen, a shade covering her from the sun’s glare. Crate after crate of peaches filled the cart. Each time it filled, either she or Becca pushed it back to the summer kitchen and returned again.

  “This is one bumper crop,” Willow muttered. “I don’t think we can finish picking them all today and still process everything before it goes mushy. We’d probably finish this cart full and then start peeling.” She paused. “Can you go start the Dutch oven boiling in the summer kitchen?”

  “What for—oh, to peel like tomatoes?” Becca hesitated for confirmation and then grinned. “I’m getting the hang of this.”

  Willow paused her picking as she watched her sons use a peach as a ball, each throwing it for the other to fetch. How long it would take for them to squabble over it—that was her question. Almost as she thought it, Liam tried to snatch it from Lucas. “Liam…”

  He glanced at her and back at his brother. Lucas stared at her too—a distraction Liam used to his advantage. He grabbed the peach and ran, tumbling over his own feet. Lucas threw himself at his brother. Willow stared, torn between the urge to laugh and the desire to send them both to bed for such ridiculous behavior. “You two are unbelievable. Everything is a competition!”

  Becca’s voice startled her. “That’s called being a child—and particularly a boy in my experience. It’s like they’re born with an innate need to prove themselves superior.”

  “At least we have one girl to give us a break.”

  “Unless she learns from them or has it too. There are competitive girls too, you know.”

  “I know. I was just hoping,” Willow confessed. “I once told Chad that if children were such obnoxious creatures, that I didn’t want any.”

  “Really? I always pictured you as a little girl dreaming of being a mommy.”

  “I thought about it sometimes. I always pictured myself with two sons and Mother. In a sense, I have that. Strange, isn’t it?”

  “Josh says we’ll probably have five boys—all mountain men types who love hunting and football.”

  Willow laughed. “Or, you’ll have five daughters—all mountain men types who love hunting and football. Just because that would be even more amusing. Can you see him trying to put pretty dresses on a tomboy?”

  Becca grew quiet. Just as Willow started to ask if something was wrong, the young woman asked, “Do you think there’s something wrong with marrying a man who would rather make his daughter doll clothes than teach his son how to fish?”

  “Not at all. Why?”

  “Just something someone said. I wondered if I was being blind.”

  “I don’t know if you’re blind,” Willow said as she hurried to separate her boys before their screeches woke the baby, “but I do know that Josh loves you and put himself in a place where he might have to give up a lot to be your husband. I’d say that’s a beautiful thing.”

  “Yeah… and people here don’t know Josh. They only see what they think they know. So someone thinks he’s not honest with himself. Who cares what they think?”

  Willow separated the boys, giving each a cracker an
d a cup of water. They’d be soaked in seconds, but it would work. “I think what matters is what God thinks. Did God make a mistake when He made Josh? Are Josh’s talents wrong? Should he ignore them and try to develop something else simply because someone thinks it means he’s effeminate? That’s ridiculous.”

  Becca stared at the cart. “I think we have enough. If we take any more, we’ll never get it done, and he’s coming tonight to talk about reception menus.”

  “Did you tell him you decided on a dress style?”

  “Yep.”

  Willow raised her eyebrows. “And… what did he say?”

  “He didn’t say a thing.” Becca blushed. “But based upon his reaction, I think he was excited.”

  “Where’s Willow?”

  Becca glanced up from the pile of blocks on the floor. “She came downstairs after her shower and said, ‘It’s beautiful outside, the baby is asleep, and the sun’s going to set soon. I’m going for a walk in the pasture. Can you watch the boys?’” Becca smiled. “Who would say no to that—or them?” Her eyes slid to where the boys piled and toppled stacks of blocks with equal success.

  “I think I’ll go see if she’s all right—if you don’t mind staying a little longer.”

  “I’m good. There’s a roast in the crockpot and she made a salad before she left.”

  Nodding his thanks, Chad strolled through the house, out the back door, and down the steps. Portia didn’t come running as she usually did. The chickens still pecked at bugs in the evening grass; the goats stood in their overnight pens, milked and waiting for the morning. As he passed the gardens, he noticed how empty and dead much of them looked. Jill would miss the produce at the farmer’s market. As much as the greenhouses produced, it wasn’t nearly enough to provide what the gardens had.

  The scent of cut alfalfa still hung in the air with that sweet scent that made the farm feel like one. He walked in a wide arc, following the flow of the animals until he reached the pasture they’d grazed in early spring. The grasses were higher there, reaching past his calves.

  Chad shaded his eyes, staring nearly directly into the fading sun. A silhouette of Willow danced—literally danced—before his eyes. The music that inspired her must have been soft and slow if her movements were any indication. She swayed, her arms sweeping in slow arcs around and over her. She spun in circles, her hands outstretched to the sky, before sweeping down to the grass.