“We’ll talk to Becca about dehydrating some of the apples. Maybe you boys would like them for snacks this winter.”
Willow led the boys to the couch and pulled out a few picture books. Sometimes the ruse worked— others, not so much. Liam and Lucas squirmed on each side of her as she tried to get the baby nursing contentedly, but at last, Willow pulled out the first book and began reading. Her hand rocked the book from side to side as she tried to read and show both boys the pictures at the same time. The inane words nearly drove her wild.
“And the fluffy bunny hopped, hopped, hopped—” She sighed and rolled her eyes, changing the words in her frustration. “—because they were hopped up on bunny drugs. Their eyes glassed over with the effects of the mind-numbing book—I mean drugs.”
A snicker in the doorway sent both boys flying from the couch, racing to hug Becca. “I think you need to spend a few hours in a bookstore.”
“They make better stuff than this? Where do I go?” Willow glanced down at the colorful pages. “I love the illustrations, but…”
“Why did you buy it?”
“I didn’t. Mom did. She went on an animal kick a few weeks back—bought books about puppies, kittens, baa-baa lambs—”
“Oh no, really? That’s bad enough for anyone, but for you! Didn’t she read them?”
“I don’t think so. How could she have? Even Chad hates them.” Willow pulled out the next book. “Let’s read about the moo cow.”
Becca snickered again. “Seriously? Moo cow?” She held out her hand for the book and flipped through the pages. “Are they all from a series or something?”
“I think so. It was a set of all kinds of animal books—see?” Willow showed the banner that read, “My First Animals.”
“When we’re done with canning, let’s go shopping for books. If there’s one thing I know, it’s children’s books. I’ve read more than you can ever imagine.”
Willow started to suggest that they leave the minute Kari finished eating, but her mind slapped her with the mental picture of buckets of apples. “As soon as we’re done with the canning, we’ve got to go. I need something—anything. Mother only kept two or three of my favorites, and I’m sick of them.” She flicked her finger at the book. “Do you think it does any good to read that kind of drivel? Mother read to me every day—dozens of times a day. Her journals are full of us cuddling on the swing, the porch, the couch, my bed, under a tree and reading books. I want that for the boys, but I keep feeling like we’re destroying their brain cells with this junk.”
“They see pretty illustrations and the familiarity with words—”
“But they’re not words. They’re sounds masquerading as children’s literature. It’s a travesty!”
Liam grinned at her. “Aaveshme!”
“See! Even Liam prefers real words. He didn’t echo hop, hop, hop!” Willow held out her free arm and waited for her son to rush back and climb up to sit with her. He didn’t.
Liam stared at Becca, glanced at Willow, and back up at Becca again. “Hop!”
“Ugh.” Willow tossed the book aside. “I was trying to be a good mother, but I think I need to be ‘me’ too, and I don’t ‘do’ this drivel.”
“Well, I’m almost done with the last of the tomatoes. You were talking about drying things. Do we dry tomatoes or just fruit?”
“Sometimes. You can if you want. I was thinking about apples. We did berries and pears and cherries—never apples, but I thought maybe for the boys…” Willow sat Kari up, patting her back. “Or is that just cheating?”
“Try some anyway.” Becca glanced at the clock. “It’s almost lunch. Want me to make something while you get them ready? We can work together while they nap. That way, if Kari wakes up, we don’t have to stop anything.”
“Sounds good. We’ll finish the tomatoes first. That way something will be done.”
“How did you do all this by yourself the year after your mother passed? All those apples—”
Willow’s eyes widened. She sat up, settling Kari over her shoulder. “I forgot to call Jill. She’s been waiting for apples and I forgot.”
Becca picked up Lucas and headed toward the kitchen. “Call and tell Marianne. She’ll love it. You know how much she loves when you aren’t ‘perfect.’”
As Lucas scrambled to follow Becca and his brother, Willow started upstairs. “Kari, anyone who is delusional enough to think I have any hope of perfection needs a serious reality check.”
After Becca and Willow spent three days of near non-stop canning, Willow called Jill and offered her the rest of the apples. The next day, Jill arrived to pick up the apples Willow had set aside for her. “I don’t know where they came from. We had a bumper crop—three times the normal yield. It’s unreal.”
“I’m grateful for them. People love your produce.” Jill stepped into the pantry. “You finished your canning. How you get so much stuff done, I’ll never understand.”
Willow stared at the shelves and realized they were fuller than they’d ever been. As her eyes scanned the jars, she saw row upon row of green beans, corn, peas, tomatoes, beets, and berries, fruit—everything they grew. A third row nestled in the valley between jars, barely fitting on each shelf. That image followed her out to Jill’s truck and as she watched the woman drive to the highway.
“Lord, it seemed like it took so long to get so little done, but we did more than we ever have. I needed that today. Thanks.”
“Thanks for what?”
Whirling around at the sound of Becca’s voice, Willow clutched her chest. “Wow. You startled me. I was just looking at how much we got done.”
“It’s so cool.”
“Cool.” Willow’s eyebrows rose before she moved to put the kettle on the stove. It felt like the perfect time for a cup of hot tea. “How cool?”
“It’s just that I’ve always gone to the store and bought a can of this or that. I mean, we feel like we’re making ‘from scratch’ meals if we don’t throw a frozen lasagna in the oven or use premixed spices or boxed ‘helper’ meals.”
“Isn’t it?” Willow dropped tea balls in the cups and retrieved milk from the icebox. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, it’s just that ‘from scratch’ food often includes canned tomatoes or tomato sauce. It means going to the butcher case and getting a chicken or a beef brisket. It means going to the produce department and—” Something in Willow’s expression seemed to frustrate Becca. “Never mind.”
“I’d like to understand. I just don’t. Sorry.”
“It’s just that living out here redefines it. You don’t just not use boxes and mixes. You don’t purchase fresh veggies and make your own which is the epitome of ‘from scratch’ for most people. You grow it—sometimes even collect the seeds and grow it again next year. Not just the tomatoes, but your fish, your chicken, your beef—everything.”
“We buy flour.” The words sounded inane even to her ears.
“That’s not the same thing. I bet someday you will start growing your own wheat just so you don’t have to be dependent on flour from the store.”
“Not likely. Mother couldn’t make good bread and pie crust with whole wheat, so she stuck to white.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve had great stuff.at potlucks and things. You just need the right kind of flour and to know how to do it.”
It wasn’t the first time and, if past experience was any kind of indicator, it wouldn’t be the last time someone tried to make her fit their idea of what a Finley would do. Baking, construction, hobbies—it seemed like a limitless end of expectations. Some had been accurate, though. A few had anyway. Chad’s suggestion of an instrument, for example, had revealed a desire she usually kept squelched down.
“I haven’t practiced in months…”
“Making dough? Why don’t you ask Luke’s mom or—”
“No, the dulcimer. I was starting to get the hang of it too. I could play without hesitating or stumbling.”
“Oka
aay…” Becca pulled the whistling kettle from the stove, filled their cups, and carried them to the table. “What does that have to do with whole wheat?”
Chagrined, Willow pulled herself back to the conversation. “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about all the things that people think I should do—whole wheat and raising a pig are usually at the top of the list.”
“Why not a pig?”
“Mother never wanted to bother. She was happy to have Mr. McFarland bring bacon and ham with our beef.” She wrapped her hands around the mug, smiling at the difference between the Polish pottery and her mother’s teacups. Much had changed. If only Mother were here to share it… just once. Willow snapped herself out of her thoughts. “Now it would just be added work for you.”
“You should try one. See how you like having it. The boys might enjoy it too.”
The idea held no appeal for her, but Willow saw something in Becca that she recognized. “If you want to try it, we can. I just can’t take on anything unless you’re willing to do the work if I can’t. I’ll dig out the old Mother Earth News magazines we have and see if any talk about raising pigs—oh, and I think I have a book in the library that might have a section on it.”
Becca jumped to her feet. “Where?”
“Wall by the closet, second shelf from the bottom… somewhere in the middle, I think.”
“I am always amazed at how well you know your books. Be right back.”
While Becca went in search of information on how to raise a pig, Willow finished her tea and cut herself a slice of apple pie while the kettle reheated. Her body reminded her that the baby hadn’t eaten in a couple of hours, sending her to check the basket under the dining room table. The baby didn’t stir.
“Whatcha doin’,” Becca whispered. “Kari’s fine.”
“Can’t see if she’s breathing.”
Becca stared at the baby’s back, watching for some sign. “I think I saw her back rise…”
Her concern overrode her innate dislike of disturbing sleeping children. She laid her hand gently on Kari’s back, and the baby squirmed. Once back in the kitchen, Willow pressed her arms to her chest and winced. “I wish she’d wake up.”
“You could go get her…”
“She’ll wake up soon enough. I just realized it’s a bit past her usual feeding.” Willow nodded at the book. “That’s the one. I inhaled that one when I was about seven. Mother got sick of me telling her how wrong we did everything and banned me from it for two years.”
Becca laughed. “You would be a know-it-all. I can just hear it.”
“Yeah, well Mother didn’t want to.” Willow passed a plate of pie. “Hungry?”
“Sure.”
“Remind me to order a couple of pigs around the time we plant the outdoors gardens next year. I’m pretty sure that’s when you get them. We’ll worry about breeding if we decide we like them.” Kari’s snorts reached them from the dining room. “And my daughter awakes—just in time. I was beginning to think I’d soak my shirt.”
Chapter 181
The sketches before her did little to inspire her. Willow wadded up yet another full piece of paper and tossed it in the kindling box. Kari lay kicking her little legs on a pallet at Willow’s feet while the boys squealed upstairs as Chad gave them their baths. “Between you and me, little girlie, I’m glad to save my back tonight. I’m tired.”
Her words earned her nothing more than a few kicks and waving fists from Kari. Willow stared at the blank paper in front of her and closed her eyes, thinking. The ideas that should have flowed clogged somewhere in her imagination, refusing to show themselves. Half an hour later, with the boys clean and tucked into their cribs, Chad found her still staring at a blank page, a few balls of rejected paper littering the box and the floor around it.
“Is Mama having trouble with her sketches, little lass?”
Though the baby said little, apparently too engrossed in her personal calisthenics, Willow glanced up and winced. “Everything I draw I like… it’s not that. I just don’t think it’s what Boho is looking for.”
“Did you ask Lee if they had an agenda?”
“Agenda is a bit extreme,” Willow began, “but I could ask if there was something… yeah.” She pulled out her phone.
“Lass, it’s after eight.”
“Yes, and Lee is up until ten most nights. I can call at eight-fifteen without waking her up.” Before Chad could say anything, Willow began talking to Lee about the ideas she had and ignored her husband laying on the floor with their daughter.
“I just didn’t know if you wanted any cohesiveness with the adult line or—”
“Not at all. We want the children’s line to be connected only by a few of the fabrics. You know what you’re doing. Do it.” That wasn’t what Willow hoped to hear, but before she could ask another question, Lee said, “So, I was wondering if we could talk…”
“Sure. Go for it.”
Silence followed before Lee added, “I thought maybe you could come into the city or maybe we could talk after church…”
“Come on out for lunch. Becca’s going to be gone, and Chad has to work at two, so—”
“That’d be great. Thanks. I’ll see you then and you can show me whatever sketches you have at that point. Gotta run now, bye!”
Willow stared at the phone in her hand before returning to the kitchen. “That was odd.”
“She asleep after all?”
“No…” The sight of Chad tickling Kari’s belly made her smile. “No, she just told me to do whatever I want and then asked if we could talk after church on Sunday. Almost as soon as I said yes, she said she had to go.” Willow’s eyes slid to the paper on the table. “And I still have no idea what I want to do.”
“You could go find some catalogs or magazines—see what’s ‘hot’ right now.”
“They don’t want that though. When I asked about that last year, they said they want whatever feels whimsical and chic to me.”
Chad laid back, his hands behind his head, and stared up at her. “I’ve never seen you like this. You’re so uncertain about something you love to do. Why don’t you just start sewing things with your fabric? I’m sure Aggie’s got a girl the right size for about anything you make, so have fun, and when you find what you like, then sketch and sew it in the right fabrics.”
“I could.” She bit her lip as she stared at the paper. “But there’s one problem with that.”
“What?”
“I don’t have the time I used to.”
“You have a year!” Chad sat up and rested his arms on his knees. One look at the exasperation on her face seemed to stifle her husband’s lack of ability to understand the fashion process. “Okay, so you have two months. Fine. Think about what you’d want to see Kari wearing in those fabrics. Just those. Forget anything else you might want her to wear. Picture her at one, three, seven, eleven. What do you want her wearing? Then draw it. Then make it.”
Willow stared at him, her jaw slack and her eyes semi-glazed over. Just as Chad started to backpedal, she sketched a few lines, glancing down at Kari every now and then. She paused. Thought, sketched, and thought some more. After a few minutes more of playing with Kari, Chad stood to look at her progress.
“Well, I guess this means that wasn’t another stupid idea. That’s good.”
“It was a brilliant idea. That’s what I did the first time I made anything. I made what I liked. I made what I wanted to wear or what I’d want my child to wear when I did those jumpers. That’s me. I think I just lost focus or something.”
“Or you’re tired and in need of a snuggly movie with your husband and daughter.”
She glanced up at him. “You want to watch a movie?”
“I brought home that new suspense movie I told you about.”
Before she could hesitate long enough for him to realize how little she wanted to kill her momentum, Kari squawked. A glance at the clock told her it was time to feed the baby again. “I have to stop anyway. Let�
��s watch.”
Half an hour later, Chad retrieved her sketch pad and pencil from the kitchen table. “Here. If you draw one more dress on my leg, the chief is going to require a psych eval.”
Willow laid out twelve sketches on the dining room table and set fabric swatches with each one. “I found myself going a little crazy with ruffles, so you’ll have to tell me if it’s not marketable. I can scale it back a little.”
After examining each sketch closely, Lee pulled out a chair and sat down. “Three nights ago, you called me and told me that you didn’t know what you were doing, and now you have the whole line complete? What happened?”
“Chad told me to draw what I’d make for Kari out of those fabrics—so I did. I wouldn’t have chosen a few of those for her, but if I had ‘em—”
“The angel in the marble, eh?” Lee mused.
The words confused her. “I don’t know what you mean, but—”
“It’s a quote by Michelangelo. Someone asked how he did some sculpture or another and he said something like, ‘I saw the angel in the marble and set him free.’”
That idea Willow could follow. “Right. Like the Scandinavian inspired ones and the thirties—the fabric dictated those. I just kept trying to force the fabric to be something other than what it was. Bad idea.”
“I like them all. I think the ruffles are fine, but I’ll have to ask Suki. She’s great with knowing right away if something will work.”
“Then I should have these to you next month. I’ll bring them in and take the boys—and Kari—to see their great-grandparents.” Willow stared at the fabrics again. “You know, I don’t understand why you need them so far in advance.”
“It’s just how it’s done. Manufacturers need lead times and—”
“But this is all custom—or nearly so. You could stay ahead of the trends by waiting until just three or four months before and see what consumers like and don’t like for the coming fashions and save yourselves so much money and have the most up to date clothes without taking the same kinds of risks.”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 6 Page 2
